


The Ward of Varykino

by Unnethe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (elements), (lite), (some), (to come), (v light gore), 1890s, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Aristocracy, Arranged Marriage, Carriage travel, Coming of Age, Courtship, Declarations Of Love, Epistolary, Equestrian, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, Floriography, Fluff, HEA, Horseback Riding, Kylo/Kira: equine romance, Latin; the language of sex & insults, Love At First Fight, Marriage Proposal, Masturbation, Minor Amilyn Holdo/Leia Organa, Minor Character Death, Minor Poe Dameron/Finn, No Pregnancy, Period-Typical Sexism, Rey's love language is independent transportation, Rose/Jannah, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Slow Burn, [Tags will update], but family planning etc discussions, but no racism or homophobia, comeuppance for villainy, complicated relationships to gigot sleeves, curvier Rey, cutting set downs to friends to lovers, dark secrets, explicit historical vulgarities, flagrant outdoor bathing, fulsome meals & ladies riding astride, grudges fluff & smut, intense hand holding, listening at doorways, possessive reylo, really quite pastoral, science fantasy (aka cogwheel droids), shopping & taking tea, the biggest cockblocks are gloves, use The Horse rey, who would of course grow resplendent moustaches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unnethe/pseuds/Unnethe
Summary: On a grand country estate in 1890s Naboo, Miss Aureylia Nemesia awaits her 19th birthday with mixed emotions for the fulfilment of her betrothal and the many changes this will bring.For Benjamin Organa Solo Skywalker, Marquess of Naberrie, the matter appears more cut and dried: he resents being betrothed at all.Yet amidst their correspondence, travel, and growth of many kinds, a dark secret threatens to upend all Rey holds dear.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 60
Kudos: 88





	1. Varykino; a Letter Received

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fantasy world take on the Victorian 1890s (generally earlier in the decade), so please assume any inaccuracies are narrative choices (even if they are not…). I will gloss any especially obscure terms, Latin, items of interest, pretty (or smutty…) historically relevant pictures etc.
> 
> I’ve had so much fun writing this, and getting lost in research is exactly what I’ve needed after my city suddenly went into a second lockdown.
> 
> I will always list any additional CW (which may be potentially spoilery) first in the endnotes for you to check if you need to, and I welcome CW suggestions for anything I’ve missed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Miss Aureylia Nemesia receives inflaming correspondence ahead of an occasion marking significant change; past eavesdropping, however, has already coloured her opinions._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter there is also some space given to exposition for Rey before travel etc begins.

The letter arrived over breakfast.

Rey took this daily in her bedroom, sharing Luke’s inclination for little noise during the first hour after waking. It was not his habit to keep a formal breakfast table unless there were houseguests, by which was meant, very occasionally, his sister. (The Duke being a far more prodigious writer of correspondence than a devotee of any other forms of socialising.)

The day rose bright already, seen through periwinkle velvet drapes pulled back by Kaydel upon delivery of Rey’s usual tray of imported coffee, for which she had picked up her guardian’s habit, as well as ham, eggs, marmalade, and toasted fresh bread with butter.

All from Varykino, more self-sufficient than otherwise and seated in fertile County Naberrie.

As typical for the rapidly shifting earlier summertime weather in this Lake Country region of Naboo, the morning mist lifted across the ornamental fountain pond and the grounds of the estate. Unveiling the manicured lawns, roses, and box hedges that gave way to rolling green, elm and oak, and woodlands far beyond.

It promised to be hot again, Rey thought, pulling her soft, blush silk _robe de chambre_ about her nightgown and digging into her food. The perfect day to ride out.

But then again, Rey declared almost every day a perfect one for such activity while taking in her regular, most beloved scene beyond the window, from her position propped against the pillows and bolsters in her plush, canopy feather-bed.

“R2 has just delivered a letter… Miss Aureylia?” The voice of Kaydel (Connix around others when more formality than intimacy was required) retook Rey’s attention as her lady’s maid’s pale, keen-eyed and rosy cheeked face came back into view.

“Mmm?”

“There’s an important letter for you here.”

Rey’s expression lit up, only to fall with recollection at the same moment as Kaydel’s addendum. “Not from Sir Finnbheara, this came via private mechano-pigeon. I am sorry, don’t be gettin’ in a pet. You know he may not write you direct in the general university post. But perhaps he will correspond with His Grace soon?”

No news, then, of the growing romance between her friend and the as yet undisclosed man he had met in the spring.

Avian homing delivery mechanoids were growing in popularity against mail coaches and even the railway, as Rey well knew; the invention had originated within Varykino’s grounds.

However, while as with older styles of automaton before them they were increasingly becoming a status symbol amongst the wealthy, there were pockets of distrust toward any machines that heavily mimicked living creatures.

Such designs were long banned by several conservative institutions for being unnatural, including (rather ironically, Rey thought) the oldest and most elite universities, like Finn’s. Preposterous when cogwheel innovation was widely declared to be the way of the future.

Kaydel handed over the small, cream envelope to its more hungry than enthused recipient and smoothed the crisp half-apron over her grey dress. A reserved but discerning, violet-patterned example of the nipped waist, high neck, and gigot sleeves of current daytime fashions.

To Kaydel’s despair, Rey’s own sartorial tastes tended toward the flowing, easy movement and artistic sentiments of aesthetic dress, at best, and as greatly as Rey recognised the growth of Kaydel’s skills and ingenuity during their three years together, respect for a budding maestra of her craft and desire to experience the extent of it were _not_ one and the same.

A mercy for Kaydel, then, was that she had been given ducal leave – very gladly received – to add appropriate formality to her lady’s wardrobe for the near future.

This was in light of recent preparations for Rey’s approaching nineteenth birthday, marking the year in which she, in common with all Nabooian young ladies of the station into which she had been raised, would come out into society.

The double-handling manner of Rey’s general mail service correspondence was an oddity of her upbringing. The insistence of Luke Ruwee Skywalker, 11th Duke of Theed, that his ward’s presence at Varykino remained very, _very_ private. Nigh unknown to outsiders.

Indeed, she had only left this particular area of Naboo twice in all her years, as a much younger girl.

The first journey was merely one rural shire over to see an elderly friend of Luke’s, the Rev’d Mr Yoderly (where there was no excitement to be had but playing outside the vicarage while the men talked for a great long while), and the second to the bustling capital of Theed for a single night. This was solely to visit a specialist physician who refused to travel, after she fell hard out of a tree she had been climbing with Finn and some of the local farm children (the leg healed perfectly).

She never accompanied her guardian to the city on the occasions he chose to sit in the House of Lords, but with the fullness of her daily life she did not feel she missed out unduly on the opportunity. Despite his title, the Duke himself preferred to keep to his country seat.

Stony-faced and tight-lipped, he had ever given only scant information as to particulars on the subject of this privacy, unlike her usual success with such wheedling in other matters. The refrain was that her sheltered life on the estate was for her own safety, and best left well alone.

He was seldom quite so gruff, tending more toward pottering about the vast kitchen gardens directing the under-gardeners placing his latest cross-bred variety of lettuce, and long luncheons while reading at table, as he aged. Furthermore, he had been a father figure throughout Rey’s life, so by and large she had always respected his decisions.

Sir Finnbheara Sabreur was her oldest and dearest friend, and Varykino’s nearest neighbour alongside his mother Joan, Lady Sabreur, his father’s sister Mrs Adelia Coventry and her young son Freddy, at Amity Court some eight miles distant (for which Finn had become the 6th Baronet upon his father’s passing three years prior).

In earlier times they would simply ride out to visit each other, but in term he needed to enclose any missives to Rey – sealed and private though they were kept – within letters addressed to His Grace, the Duke of Theed.

Her guardian had requested such in a closed-door meeting with Finn before the youth had even left for Harrow, and now at twenty-two and at Oxford, reading mathematics, the practice continued.

Finn had maintained that the Duke was merely uncharacteristically stern and had divulged no information she was not already privy to, and she believed him as ever the habit between them.

Yet Luke had been emphatic enough, regardless of his high regard for the young man, that her friend with his usual sunny mien and warm brown complexion had exited the library drawn and quite ashen; impressed with some perception of genuine danger to his friend.

Of course, possessed by a spirit of wilfulness as she frequently was, Rey had twice slipped envelopes into the household bag of letters, ridden out daily by one of the under-grooms to meet the general mail coach bound for the railway at Shaakhill Station. Yet Finn proved resolutely observant of the Duke’s wishes on the matter and so she was forced to comply.

Dabbing her napkin at her lips, Rey turned about the beautiful, flourishing penmanship declaring _Miss Aureylia Nemesia, Varykino, County Naberrie_. A surnamed reminder of Luke’s profuse, midsummer propagation endeavour blooming beneath the window of the room in which she had been born, rather than because she had one by lineage.

She nearly choked on her last mouthful of toast and marmalade at the sender.

_Benjamin Organa Solo Skywalker, Marquess of Naberrie, Grimtaash House, Grosvenor Square, City of Theed_.

Rey’s eye’s narrowed and she shuffled the letter between her fingers for a time, toying with the dark green, monogramed seal.

Luke’s nephew, eventually to become the 12th Duke of Theed.

Who, as heir presumptive, had taken the ducal surname when he came of age as well as the courtesy title. Somewhat ironically, given both the Duke’s distaste for the city and the rarity of Lord Naberrie setting foot in the Lake Country.

It was not an _entirely_ unanticipated correspondence despite his prior utter indifference to doing so, Rey was begrudgingly forced to admit.

She had long been expected to marry Lord Naberrie, as arranged between Luke and his twin sister, the Lady Leia Organa Solo (her maiden name taken from her rather odd, early adoption out of the family during a period of protracted warfare, which by law did not alter her blood right to a Skywalker title. “Split the scions,” Luke had once explained darkly, “at least one of us would hopefully survive to produce legitimate issue.”).

This betrothal was a way to easily secure unbroken— and uninfluenced by any conniving of other renowned families— the current strength of the Skywalker holdings.

All the more necessary with Varykino being the nearest seat to the Western Fells marking one half of the border with Exegol, during under two generations’ worth of an uneasy peace treaty between Naboo and that small, but formerly aggressive, independent imperial archduchy.

The self-styled Emperor Palpatine (His Imperial Majesty of Exegol, Archduke Sidious) did engage in occasional diplomatic visits with The Kingdom of Naboo’s own monarch, King Ackbar, but was widely regarded as untrustworthy still. Reviled, in fact, by the Duke and Lady Leia.

Yet the marital arrangement also safeguarded Rey’s future. Inheriting nothing fixed by law, she had been frankly told that any annuity from what was not tied back into the estate could not sustain her in the same comfort throughout her life, and she knew enough to guess this would greatly limit her marriageability.

Although she did not like to think of her guardian passing, without the betrothal she would thence likely need to seek a position, if she did not wish to rely upon further generosity from his remaining family. Quite possibly, in the latter scenario, to age into a very unappealing bleak spinsterhood (this particular part she had not been told, but it featured at alarming length in novels).

Finn, as expected, had offered Rey whatever help he could provide, but she had no wish to impose upon Amity Court at some later date.

Absolutely none of these alternatives greatly appealed, therefore Rey loved Luke all the more for such consideration of her future.

In theory, then, she did not mind having his nephew chosen as her husband. He was a better match than she could ever hope to make as a foundling to the estate, for her nameless mother had appeared at Varykino’s doors heavily pregnant, and died of a sickness contracted in this journey soon after giving birth.

Rey had last seen Lord Naberrie four summers previously, together with Lady Leia. He had been, although reticent to her, handsome enough – by her developing estimations of such things – in his large, pale and dark haired way to render her uncharacteristically tongue-tied throughout their short stay.

The man was a veritable giant to Rey’s rather more pocket-sized perspective at that time, and quite absurdly dwarfed his mother. Then a twenty-five year old gentleman some ten years her senior, freshly out of a prolonged university education.

Certainly his appearance was different to the gangly, mumbling youth she had met only twice, and briefly, while younger still.

Rey had liked his father on those earlier occasions. The late Mr Han Solo, a man of commerce, whose face may have faded in her mind but who left a strong impression with his easy smile, and way of talking to her about equine matters as if she were far more knowledgeable and mature than she surely was.

For all these reasons Rey did not propose to challenge Luke on the arrangement as the time of her majority, following which her nuptials would take place, grew nearer. Not after her charmed existence in her lifetime of his broad generosity and remarkable laxity regarding her upbringing.

Fortuitously so, for this was the second matter upon which the Duke stood firm, and ever in the back of her mind remained an awareness that she was blessed for his early benevolence, and to have this life at all.

If sometimes Rey had a sense of some deeply repressed sadness, akin to a memory that would not surface, or if she dreamt occasional, odd nightmares that were more feelings of loss and danger and shadowed, flickering images than anything tangible, she kept it to herself.

Indeed, she had the best of whatsoever she could want: tutors more customary for a boy rather than a governess; laughter; frequent additions to Varykino’s library collection based upon her interests; and far more freedom than a girl in her position would – or indeed _should –_ usually possess according to the dark mutterings of Mrs Wexley, the generally kindly but traditionally minded housekeeper.

Luke had, admittedly, let her rather run amok. So long as she took all her lessons, academic _and_ etiquette, and knew the well-mannered application of when _not_ to be wild, as required.

However, Rey was hardly a romantic about the subject of marriage for one even more significant reason, quite separate too from the fact that Luke seemed happy enough without, and her closest example of a blissful union lived firmly unwed.

This was it: overhearing _those_ words in Lord Naberrie’s angry, raised voice to Luke and Lady Leia during that last visit to Varykino in which the twins confirmed the betrothal.

Crouched with her ear pressed against the gap of the drawing room door jamb and her knobbly, almost fifteen-year-old knees pulled in against her nightgown, she had for once found cause to regret her habitual eavesdropping.

After running back to her bed in a flood secret tears, Rey had done her best to turn her dashed, youthful hopes for potential happiness in one particular area of her future life into a more tempered and pragmatic view as the years passed.

But she had not forgiven Lord Naberrie for it, nor for that point of shattering realisation that outside Varykino’s boundaries, despite being raised as a lady, many could view her status _quite_ differently than she was accustomed to within it.

Therefore in practice, and more privately, she did have misgivings. So too, concerning Lord Naberrie’s heightened reputation as a bounder following his return to Naboo, after two years of wide ranging travel subsequent to their betrothal.

Since then his name had become frequently printed in the society pages, a leading figure amongst the fashionable, fast-living and dissolute set in the city. Sometimes accompanied by a grainy, monochrome photograph that included his imposing form in top hat and Inverness cape outside the opera house or theatre, or in a tailcoat dancing at a ball.

These pictures did not provide enough detail to inform her of how the years had changed his person, but did cause bitter pangs of something hot and angry to churn unfamiliarly in her belly over whomever of the pretty stage actresses stood far too close against him.

Not to mention the most vaguely printed rumours of associations with married society ladies, referred to in such careful obliqueness that Rey could only speculate, but which caused Luke to look thunderous, alternate between muttering about _libel against the dukedom_ and calling his nephew a _brazen libertine_ , and withdraw to the potting shed.

Rey had simply stopped reading the society pages, by way of a solution.

Lord Naberrie would inherit Varykino and she would become Lady Naberrie, his Marchioness, and eventually the Duchess of Theed. She had resolved to do her duty as best she could to the roles (which, in truth, she felt contained a magnitude a little outside her comprehension), and thus retain her standard of living and access to her dearly cherished home.

The latter, alone, _would_ be worth the various troubles doubtless associated with him, as she had many times told herself. Yet she had also hoped since his return to Theed that time would calm him.

At last, and with far more conviction of action than she truly felt, she pried open the wax and read the contents of the single enclosed page, becoming glad Kaydel had noted her darkening expression at only the first line and removed herself with the tray of breakables from the room.

❈

Dear Miss Aureylia,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and applying yourself diligently within your schoolroom.

I remember well my time when I was last at Varykino, many years ago, and can scarce believe you will very soon be nineteen and this arrangement between us will be fulfilled at long familial insistence, despite my protestations.

I admit, I find it very hard to imagine that you have grown past the shy slip of a girl I met then, despite claims from my mother _et al._ that this is indeed the case.

Those who know me inform me that one of my many faults (in addition to a dislike of being directed against my will, including in matters of continuing the lineage) is my blunt nature, so niceties aside, let me speak plainly.

I mean to honour the agreement as laid down for us, due to the small matter of the duchy coin continuing to be made freely available prior to my inheritance, but not to change my habits or disposition. Hopefully, for your sake, this will not bother you unduly or alter your dedication to the elevation provided by your new position.

Indeed, my principal abode is large enough that you may live out your days, and nights, quite undisturbed as I tend to my own amusements. I expect this will suit you well, as you were not given over to conversation during our encounters.

There will be distractions enough within both Grimtaash House and the City of Theed for a girl such as yourself. Playing music and shopping (no doubt being very free with aforementioned coin). Walking in flower gardens and invitations to tea parties filled with many other twittering ladies. A suitably docile pony acquired by my staff for light trotting in Hyde Park if you so wish it, and so forth.

All I require is that you present yourself for the requisite social appearances by my side and do not expect a measure of fidelity or regard from me that would no doubt quickly prove tiresome to the both of us.

Yours etcetera,

Ben.

❈

Rey bit back a scream of frustration against her pursed lips.

Throwing down her letter with a punch to an unlucky pillow, and back the covers, she stomped through to the mirrored table in her adjoining dressing room.

_Ben_.

To have written high-handedness to so great a degree and signed himself as _Ben_? Claiming such familiarity without intent for future regard, after rubbing in the inferiority of her birth? Insinuating he cared not a jot for working for the good of Varykino or for his own future holdings more generally!

The cheek. The utter nerve. Awful, toplofty, _fatuous_ man!

There were elements of his correspondence in which she suspected his underlying meaning escaped her, despite her access to a great many things in the house’s library. Yet she was loath to seek clarification from another and be exposed as precisely that unlearned, schoolroom girl.

Rey was no longer a child and to be treated as one by her intended, so close to the months when they would likely be married, brought a sulphuric sort of heat up through her chest, tightening at her throat and prickling atop the skin of her fisting hands.

She and Lord Naberrie would begin as near strangers, true, but surely it would be better to work toward some hope of mutual accord than whatever he proposed. If _she_ had still been able to think so after everything, he had no excuse.

Rey rubbed dispiritedly at the light, sun-kissed hue of her freckled cheeks and high forehead, noting in the mirrored glass the irate scrunch of her nose, and the flash within the bright hazeled green of her eyes she had been told were unusual and one of her best, most striking features.

Perhaps it would be most prudent instead, and surely more agreeable to her, to try to insist their lives remain rather geographically separate. Lest she be tempted to curse and hiss whenever in the same room, or give him the cut across the dinner table.

Certainly Rey considered the idea of her successfully playing at the society wife in _those_ conditions for the majority of her days as unrealistic as it was insupportable.

Air! She needed air, the sort as could only be got from horseback. Both to restore a modicum of her equanimity (for she would _not_ let herself repine on account of the pride of such a man) and to feel alive with it rushing against her skin.

Rey splashed herself at her washstand and set aside any ideas of making a proper toilette, for it would result in prying conversation. In general, she preferred being the one doing so but _not_ receiving.

Her nightly waist-length plait of thick, chestnut hair sun-streaked with lighter auburn remained secure enough, so she simply doubled it up and pinned the end.

Being fussed over by Kaydel, however lovingly meant, would only rankle her further. With the woman’s own flaxen, modestly upswept locks always conforming to tastes, she forever wished to style her lady’s in an elaborate, ringleted and _appropriately_ fashionable manner.

Notwithstanding this, her charge would not even wear curling paper to bed to heighten her waves, while Kaydel herself held strong opinions about the injurious impact of hot irons on hair. So it was, Rey considered as she took the last hairpin from her lips, quite surprising she had not yet been sat upon and had papers forcibly applied to settle the impasse.

Over her lately increased curves Rey donned silk combinations, short stockings, and a slightly too snug corset cover for added support (sans the eponymous item it should contain, with no one present to pester her).

The layers of softness at her hips, belly, and breasts matched strong limbs from hearty exercise, and were products as much of a generous appetite as of growing maturity. While this had all started to hinder her foundation-free proclivities, Kaydel insisted – with a certain vexing assuredness given by four years more of living with such matters – that these developments _greatly_ aided in giving the desired shape to Rey’s corseted figure.

A smocked, shirtwaist blouse followed before she pulled on the braces of a gifted, tawny worsted pair of Finn’s old trousers from his younger years. They were comfortable and familiar, even more so than the dark, wide-legged culottes Kaydel had finally ordered tailored for Rey after much argument, designed to still look like long skirts from a distance.

With the mismatched royal blue jacket of her third best riding habit upon her shoulders, she set off at a rapid clip downstairs. Heading in the direction of the outdoors through the corridor from the main hall, past the breakfast and billiard rooms, and into the small servants’ passage off the great chamber.

She successfully avoided Wexley in his butler’s pantry, and dodged both Thompson the second footman and a boxy scullery mechanoid, but almost tripped over Reginald Mk. 2 (Domestic Double-Cog model) by the kitchen courtyard door.

Luke’s opinionated and very longstanding valet was likewise built in a squat and archaic automaton style, and privately she thought R2 had grown a bit odd in the cogs over the years.

Rey ignored his familiar censorious beeps, doubtless at her running, location, _and_ mode of attire. “A very good morning to you as well, R2!” she called back, sweet tone laced with a measure of acid. “You need your voice modulator functioning if I’m to really understand you!”

He trundled after her on his three piston legs, beeping disagreeably as she disappeared down the steps, yet any coded threats to waylay her were idle; with his ponderous manner of addressing even low stairs he preferred not to, usually being conveyed to the first and second floors via dumb-waiter.

With Rey’s safety from further coded judgment assured she skidded to a halt by the dairy, pausing only to stroke Skilamalink, Mrs D’Acy the cook’s black kitchen tomcat, who stared with unwarranted optimism at the clotted cream pans cooling behind the windows.

“Ah ha, you’ve been bothering Mrs Wexley again while she’s been at her jams! Well no wonder you’ve been chased off,” Rey tutted, picking bits of gooseberry from the cat’s fur as he slinked fruity grime around her riding boots. “There, handsome again. I’m sure if I were a feline I’d do _far_ worse. If R2 asks, you don’t know which direction I went... and also perhaps hiss at him a bit.”

He blinked slowly up at her.

A sharp pang clenched suddenly beneath Rey’s breast. This was _her_ home, _all_ that she knew!

Its borders, its people, its rhythms and peculiarities. She _felt_ this truth in the moment even more than she thought it; with a burst of fierce affection, surrounded by the comforting, delicious scents from the bake house and listening to the household’s activity and the purring of the feline beneath her hand.

She would not be easily cowed into quitting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: while a betrothal is planned while Rey is under-age, nothing romantic or sexual happens. For canon reasons I decided on 19 as the Nabooian coming of age milestone (extra note: the term isn't synonymous with age of consent).
> 
> ***
> 
> I picture Varykino as having a [Chatsworth House](https://pin.it/3fBhSPp), English Baroque feel.
> 
>  _Finnbheara_ – Fee-yon VEH-ra (Gaeilge) or Finn-VEH-ra (English). _Sabreur_ – 'one who wields a sabre' or a cavalryman ⚔️
> 
> This (1880s) [photograph](https://pin.it/12GrkxV) has a big Kaydel feel, but is definitely missing her leg o' mutton sleeves (& she’s higher status than to require a cap).
> 
> [Aesthetic dress](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artistic_Dress_movement#Aesthetic_dress) developed in the 1880s and 1890s from the mid-Victorian artistic dress movement, which itself was heavily influenced by Pre-Raphaelitism.
> 
> [Nemesia flowers](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nemesia_\(plant\)). In floriography they mean friendship. The name is from Nemesis, the Greek goddess of retribution who avenged crime & punished hubris.
> 
> An interesting note about [courtesy titles](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Courtesy_titles_in_the_United_Kingdom) is they don’t take the definite article.
> 
> An 1890s formal [Inverness cape](https://pin.it/5FJxgXk).
> 
> The difference between _the cut_ and _the cut direct_ : the former is ignoring or avoiding the presence of a person, the latter is to look someone you know in the face & pretend not to remember who they are (so best done while passing them in the street or at an event).
> 
> Rey's smocked aesthetic style [(Liberty & Co) blouse](https://pin.it/giGVMSm).
> 
>  _Skilamalink_ – secret, shady, doubtful.
> 
> 💜 for kudos & comments.


	2. Varykino; a Rejoinder Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mesdames Rose Tico and Jannah Angkuadi have a radical domestic invention for Rey; Lord Naberrie gets a set-down._

“Temiri! Just the fellow I want to see!” Gravel crunched beneath the heels of Rey’s boots as she neared the stables.

“Mornin’ Miss Aureylia. Your astride saddle today then?” His suntanned face split into a grin, and he dipped his brown leather cap with his glance at her trousers. The question was, in part, also because sometimes she rode bareback for short distances.

The young man’s breath still left barely whitened huffs in the crisp, but steadily warming, morning air.

“Please. I need to shake off my shockingly ill humour even before midday.” It did not take the groom long, in his element, to saddle her mount, and he led her beloved red dun mare to her hand with dark auburn mane brushed to silk.

“How are you, my beauty? One of us is pleased with the day, I hope,” Rey crooned, rubbing Kira’s neck and receiving a well contented whicker along with typically bossy further demands for attention.

_Docile pony_ , she scoffed inwardly; to say nothing of the first part, as a taller woman than most such a creature would not do, and irrespectively she would never, ever give up Kira.

Rey swung herself to her seat in the saddle and tapped her heels, and they were off.

The even grand back aspect of Varykino fell behind, squatting wide and imposing on the landscape with the main hall in the style of some two hundred years previous, and its east wing only ninety years young. Both bearing relatively few scars to their stonework from the skirmishes of prior generations.

Under the lulling sounds and fresh, bracing scents of the rural locality, the damp parkland passed rapidly under Kira’s sure hooves. They rounded the ice-house and skirted the hay and wheat fields (for Varykino and its tenant farmers ground their own corn), cantering and jumping their way in a cross-country shortcut to the cottage of Mesdames Rose Tico and Jannah Angkuadi.

Rey’s friends, some five years her senior, residing under the Duke’s patronage for their work on the cutting edge of modern technology.

If everything went most terribly wrong with her prospects she would plead for a role assisting them if unable to find stable-yard work (the latter being, while doubtless considered highly inappropriate, the next best thing in her mind to breeding and training her own horses, and both options hopefully still within Varykino).

Despite having education in excess of that needed for a governess position Rey did not think her patience or inclination likely to match it, and nor would it leave much time at all for equestrian pursuits.

Kira passed a familiar stand of willow and crossed a small bridge above a stream glinting in the sunlight, before the couple’s home and nearby workshop – but not _too_ nearby – came into view.

Safely placed far from other more inflammable, or less robust, buildings on the estate and near a mechanically pumped source of water of their own design.

The charming, red brick cottage and vegetable garden suited them well, regardless of their commercial success with not only advancing much of the latest work in automaton mechanics, but with other passion projects and more esoteric inventions too. Such as _Harmless Mechanical Methods of Applying Pomade_ and _A Device for Automated and Uniform Distribution of Cream and Jam upon Scones at an Elected Ratio_.

At a knock, Rose appeared in the workshop doorway, safety goggles perched atop her customary disarranged black chignon. Rey had learned the hard way, with a scorched eyebrow for her negligence, _never_ to enter the space of one inventor, let alone two, without giving prior warning.

Her Haysian, light golden brown face widened into a ready smile and she wiped her hands on her well-used grey dustcoat before kissing Rey’s cheek.

“Rey! It is good to see you as ever. Jannah?” she called back into the endlessly fascinating, parts-strewn space. “Dear-heart, we have our most dedicated visitor!”

Soon the woman in question emerged as well, carefully setting her own goggles atop the pretty paisley calico worn protectively over her upswept, springy black coils. She rubbed at her deep umber cheek, leaving a smudge of oil.

After more smiles and kisses of greeting, Rey looked over her friends’ most recent work with her usual rapt interest.

“A more efficient voice modulator for mechano-servants,” clarified Jannah as Rey leant over a prototype of cogs, metal, and some of the latest fine clockwork. “Marshall & Snelgrove have already pre-ordered.”

“Oh brilliant!” Rey exclaimed, “you _and_ the interest in it. R2’s is out again as well, back to the beeps.”

“I swear he does it on purpose, we’ll pop by and take a look at him later,” supplied Rose with a sigh, having returned to her own bench to frown at a beaker of brilliant green liquid.

“He does seem to enjoy being as rude as he likes with little hope of being understood by anyone but the Duke,” Rey acknowledged, moving closer to Rose while Jannah laughed agreement. “Is this your new dye?”

“Yes, based on cobalt. Hopefully an alternative to the toxic copper arsenite, shockingly dangerous in some factories. You don’t wear vivid green, do you? And neither does His Grace?” Rose asked sharply, fixing Rey with narrowed brown eyes made disproportionately large by the swivelling magnification attachments of her goggles.

“No! Not since you warned us, and nor do others in the house _or_ for the furnishings if I have my way, which I usually do. I bid him petition the king as well for they correspond quite regularly. I shall hold out to be dressed _à la_ Tico and Angkuadi!”

A very much mollifying hour was spent thus, in ready conversation over very strong tea made upon a Bunsen burner, while Kira grazed happily outside in the company of their piebald carting pony and small herd of goats.

It took Rey a full forty minutes to remember the cause of her breakfast anger, such was the happy distraction.

“Blast and dash it all!” she protested when recent events bubbled upward in her consciousness, startling her two companions.

Jannah straightened the fetching leather waistcoat of Kef Biran cutwork she most frequently wore over her blouse, once more preparing to give counsel on a storm of opinion to follow, and Rey brought them up to speed on the morning’s goings on.

They knew her mind as much as she allowed anyone to, including her mixed feelings regarding her future matrimonial arrangements. Even more so than Finn of late, with his pressing studies and lessened ability to keep frequent contact.

Rose narrowed her eyes and spun a turnscrew dangerously in her small hand. “It sounds like you have his measure, the stuffed-shirted aristocrat! I’ve _never_ liked the sound of him.”

Rey huffed. “His letter would be risible if not so infuriating!

“He has a rather high opinion of himself,” Jannah agreed, pursing her full lips, “but most men do.” All three women nodded.

“Look, your idea of drawing your line in the sand and keeping separate residences appears a very good one, based on currently available evidence. Forget settling for _access_ to Varykino, you know my opinion: assume the title and just stay here! I know it is easier for a man to simply stamp his foot and decide to do such a thing, but take the train to Theed for two or three days a month if he kicks up a fuss and you must sometimes. I know how much you love it here, whyever leave?”

“She says this as if we have not just been discussing taking a railway tour to visit our families!” Jannah interjected with a snort of amusement. “You don’t need to forswear any globetrotting entirely.”

“Well yes… it _is_ overdue, especially according to Paige, but we shall be _returning_ afterward,” grumbled Rose, “and furthermore I find that the very moment I’m thinking of going off someplace else is exactly when inspiration strikes me!”

As her friends lovingly chaffed one another (Jannah calling Rose _the most darling little boffin_ ) Rey contemplated both Rose’s advice – which in line with her own thinking had a great deal of merit – and that travel was something she had considered would be foisted upon her after a certain age, rather than a thing to be sought out.

A small, newer internal voice enquired whether that was not simply echoing the opinion of the person who had most influenced her development.

Jannah waved a hand with a laugh to catch Rey’s attention and drew her back to the moment.

“Well in any case,” Rose told her exuberantly, “in the spirit of preparedness for the times you _will_ be in the same marital space, and if hostilities do ever cease on a large scale with His Most Inflated Lordship, we have something for you!” She bustled away to a drawer and returned with a sewn pouch.

“Open it yourself, it requires cleaner hands.” Rose wiggled her own work-stained fingers and Rey turned out the contents: a small, dense disc of sponge together with a pipette bottle of a viscous, amber liquid.

“One of our latest improvements to an existing idea,” Jannah explained, “for the prevention of pregnancy. Whatever your future plans this matter should be _your_ choice. We believe it will prove socially radical, if... likely contentious even with ducal backing, when we’re ready to obtain a patent for wider release.”

Rey blinked, with her voice choked within her throat. Her assumption had always been that matters would be largely decided for her by nature, as soon as she engaged at all in that aspect of married life. The usual manner of it meant sharing a bed together at least sometimes.

But _now_ … whatever happened, she felt more like a woman with control, with options in her own hands both literally and figuratively. And it increased the practicability of pursuing those aspirations she had for herself before anything else.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she whispered on a breath, blinking rapidly with glistening eyes but a toothy smile as well. Already she trusted in whatever advancements her clever friends had made, and in her tone to convey what words could not.

They smiled back; Rose’s round-cheeked beam and Jannah’s gap-toothed warmth being the most familiar expressions for their dispositions.

“The included note has detailed information,” Rose instructed, “but the basics are to apply the drops, insert, and wait ten minutes or more— but not less! We’ve only been able to test the serum on bovine and equine samples thus far, but the chemistry is sound and we’re confident it will work on human emissions. If you do use it, please report back to further our research.”

“However,” Jannah cautioned, growing grave, “it is no protection against disease from an uncaring partner.”

Rey nodded sharply, decisive as she remembered the disavowed _fidelity_ and _regard_.

* * *

The ride back from the cottage was as a renewed woman with expanded horizons, and Rey diverted to a favourite private spot to think. The remnants of an orchard of a former century, belonging to some building or other that had once stood near this place.

It was now overgrown, with only one ancient and lofty peach tree still bearing few fruit. She had been meaning to ask the gardeners if it might recover with care, for Lady Sabreur had one such variety at Amity Court, and on Rey’s recent visit her cook had made a delicious peach savarin. It also held many wonderful memories.

After clambering to the top Rey tossed half of one of the season’s first fruit to Kira, who was tethered to a stump some distance away.

“Don’t you grumble, that’s all you’re getting,” she countered to the mare’s whinny. “You’re a fiend for fruit and I’ll not have you getting colic!”

Kira punctuated her displeasure at the negotiation with a burst of equine flatulence and turned her back.

This remained Rey’s favourite spot for a far-reaching view of the nearer grounds, and she and Finn had found that only Varykino’s roof provided better. (However the building had the disadvantage of not allowing for the attachment of a long rope swing. At least not without considerable adult condemnation.)

The day had become hot as predicted and while Rey chewed she looked east to the restful Sabé River, mulling over both her future word choices and her options for a brief swim in her favourite birch-secluded spot.

She would need to keep her plait dry and commit to several white lies or Kaydel would know, and usually Rey better planned such schemes.

Her lady’s maid’s horror of river water miasmas remaining on the body would see Rey’s tainted tresses given an amelioratory full wash, a massage with tonics, and a healthful airing in the sun as it dried over the back of a chair no matter how tedious this (thankfully infrequent) process was to the owner.

Unfortunately Rey’s measure of follicular vanity would rather be satisfied by daily doing very little to support its continuance.

Bringing Kaydel a nosegay could preventatively place her in a good mood, yet doing so would also, at this point in their familiarity, simply make her suspicious of wrongdoing.

With irritation Rey decided she should have had her hair properly dressed after all, and elected instead to descend from her perch and ride Kira to a very familiar area of chestnut trees nearer the house, to weave in and out of them like an obstacle course until they were both tired and satisfied.

At the edge of the wood she made her habitual stop at the plain, cross-engraved stone of her unnamed mother to refresh the posy of wildflowers, with half of her reply to Lord Naberrie already composed in her head.

The barely known, yet keenly felt, pain of this place beneath a large chestnut only heightened Rey’s resolve.

She did not mean to contest her acceptance of the arrangement, but she would state _her_ terms as well.

He would not find Aureylia Nemesia a milk-water miss, if her mother had not been so in seeking uncertain shelter at Varykino.

* * *

The Duke possessed a lifelong passion for country tweeds, or if forced into more formality, an outmoded style of gentleman’s dress principally comprised of full cravats and frock coats (although he did often like a smoking jacket indoors).

Currently he was in his shirt sleeves, upon which smeared evidence of potting soil, and napping in his favourite wing-backed chair in the cosy, more often frequented, yellow sitting room. Feet propped on a footstool and the third volume of _Landscape Gardening and the Aesthetics of the Noble Ha-Ha_ fallen to the rug beneath his hand.

Her guardian’s greyed, sandy hair lay somewhat shaggily to the sides of his lined face, tanned to match her own at this time of year, and his profuse salt and pepper beard rose and fell, tucked against his chest.

With deep affection, she noticed that his waistcoat was buttoned unevenly so as to skip a hole over his paunch, upon which his magnification glass rested precariously.

The issues of R2’s voice and temper were in many ways the least of the automaton’s problems in being a gentleman’s gentleman, but Luke would not hear the accursed word _up-grade_ mentioned in his presence.

More alarming was picturing the Domestic Double-Cog with a valet’s other requisite implements. For all that Rey could not at all see the appeal of the current masculine passion for a substantial curled moustache (or in the Duke’s heyday full whiskers, and so he now wore both), she was glad of Luke’s for the sole reason she would never have the horror of picturing R2 brandishing a straight razor. Scissors were bad enough.

In the present company and good daylight of a nearby desk Rey wrote her reply undisturbed, save for the Duke’s gentle snores, before their typically late luncheon.

As she considered her valediction remarks while nibbling the dented end of her silver fountain pen – and toying with the dimpled peach pit from her day’s miscellaneous pocket collection; a source of endless weary amusement for Kaydel – Luke roused himself.

“Ah, what? I say, my dear, my dear.” He smacked his lips, lurching more upright and blinking. “I see you have been taking advantage of the fine day too. The pinery is doing _very_ well, I believe we’ll consistently be in pineapples at least until the winter, then we’ll see how they bear up. Maybe even as good as ten years ago, that was marvellous. So you went visiting, I expect?”

“Yes sir, and presently I am replying to your nephew.”

Rey must not have been able to keep some viciousness from her voice, because Luke hauled himself up using his cane and came to witness her work himself.

“I see, and that boy has given cause for your wrinkled nose, I’ll warrant. May I?”

She handed over Lord Naberrie’s letter, holding the paper as if it could soil her hand.

Luke read quickly, for there was hardly much to it. He widened his keen, blue eyes and made a grunt as surprised as it was displeasured at one particular part, although she knew not precisely what, before slapping the page down hard upon the desk with his better left arm (the right frequently troubling him with an old injury; “winged by an Exegol musket, lucky to have kept it at all!”).

He tottered a few paces to wallop an inoffensive footstool with his cane. “I _wish_ my deuced nephew would leave off this ridiculous bravado, as if he genuinely desires it that people think him a rackety oaf barely capable of the simplest courtesy! I had thought correspondence with you would be an _improvement_ over his usual refusal to pay the matter any attention at all, regardless of civility or threats or any combination of the two.

“Yet now I must again beg of you your faith in me, dear Aureylia,” he entreated, “for I am not so hard-hearted as to match you with one who could _never_ meet your wit and temperament, if I truly believed that to be bone-deep in him.

“It has long been mine and my sister’s hope that he would turn back toward the truer lightness of life, but he took his father’s passing very hard those seven years ago and gave over to wine, wom— _more fully_ to his disagreeable habits, and this type of affected rudeness. Too much like my blasted father—” Luke spun and grabbed the letter again, jabbing a finger at the penmanship in several places— “who threw good after bad with increasing fervour toward the end of his rather abbreviated duration!

“Have I told you how it was only the strong support of Mr Obiwich toward my mother and then myself— he was land steward at that time, still the best one we’ve had I think, and the only soul to whom the pater would truly deign to listen— that prevented the estate from being thrust further into dun territory, and saw us recover? In this regard there was wisdom in all the holdings being fettered by entail, and none of the few afterward who wanted to break with it finding support to do so!

“The boy should be thankful _he_ is not inheriting debt, and he _certainly_ has another thing coming if he thinks he can live his life ignoring his responsibilities! There have been Skywalkers on this land for over five hundred years!”

Luke caught himself finally in his tirade, dropping his gesticulating hand to scratch his nose with the letter as he cast Rey a troubled look. “Hmm, I have diverted somewhat from the original matter and I do not wish to frighten you. Benjamin is not such a very dedicated waster as _all_ that, and to his credit he maintained his academic talents throughout university at least.

“Although he does not ruddy well see fit to display them here, yet I had numerous comprehensive discussions with the dratted boy on scholarly matters when I was last in Theed!—” Luke cleared his throat— “In between our arguments. Well, let me set my eyes on your reply my girl, if it please you to indulge me. I confess myself curious.”

Rey’s finer feelings had raced through a riot of different emotions while she listened— anger at Lord Naberrie, gratitude toward her guardian, sadness and compassion… and yes a large measure of fear at Luke’s diversion, anger again— before she passed over her own writing in a careful, although less ornate, hand.

The Duke scanned the pages, brow furrowing, clearing, furrowing once more, before he slapped his thigh and dissolved into gasping guffaws so violent he sat himself hard upon a nearby tufted settee.

It was not the admonishment she had perhaps expected.

“My dear, this will do him a world of good!” he granted while wiping his eyes.

R2, emerging from behind the occupied item of furniture, gave emphatic beeps, and Luke patted the shield of the Skywalker coat of arms rendered in faded paint upon the automaton’s rounded top. ( _Azure, a griffin segreant argent_ supplied Rey’s brain, and she had a familiar moment of regret at retaining heraldry lessons when those pockets of her mind could be better employed with any number of other things.)

“Yes, quite right old chum! He likely thought she hadn’t an ounce of steel in her,” the Duke said with a snort, “but _we_ know better. If the fear of any gods of his choice won’t do it then perhaps the fear of future marital dissatisfaction, when he sees the opposite is within the grasp of a more considered man with one such as yourself, my girl.

“Change nothing… hmm, although… yes! Yes _of course_ , except to include one of those recent portraits in miniature and Madame Tico’s capture of you in the gardens. And _never_ underestimate your talents and many charms. Now, cook is dressing the remaining quail for our cold collation, with pineapple and a clotted cream junket to finish… Ah, and cream of barley will be tonight’s soup. So that all should cheer you up in any regard. R2, fetch my nephew’s mechanical bird!”

* * *

The valet returned holding the visiting mechano-pigeon firmly at a distance with his grabbing arm.

If a bird without much variable expression could be said to be decidedly unimpressed, and similarly a rotund automaton’s largely bland front casing to be of a calculating sort of hostility, then the present tableau would show it. R2 did not beep at all, and this was somehow more worrying.

Rey often suspected he resented any other mechanoids encroaching on his particular inner-circle turf, and made a mental note to again verify that their own two pigeons were kept on very high shelves.

“Sir,” she asked as she clasped the jerking bird and eyed the manservant, “there is a peach tree down at the old east orchard site I’m _very_ fond of, perhaps R2 could take the head gardener an _extremely important_ message that it needs attention?”

“Ah,” Luke murmured with quick understanding, and availed himself of her pen and paper, “yes really a _very_ crucial message. Thank you R2, good man.”

The happy beeps that followed tempered the Duke’s mutterings about the great many repeated problems risked by tree climbing.

It took several minutes for Rey to wrestle her letter into this particular bird’s scrollwork-engraved, pop-out cavity; some were more compliant than others.

(Just quite why the inventors had the devices manufactured with certain elements of avian realism, Rey did not know as certainty, but she suspected Rose’s impish humour. For both of the women any complaints about _perverting technology to make bestial simulacra of nature_ only caused them to dig in their practically booted heels. The latest models also cooed to themselves, and unless unwound between uses would hop about the furniture and light-fittings.)

With the bird configured to the mechano-receiver coordinates of Grimtaash House and Rey sucking on a pinched fingertip, she scrambled the receiver-sensitive combination lock, re-wound its clock key, and threw the thing out the window with no small measure of viciousness.

Nevertheless it was satisfying that Marquess of Naberrie’s bird was a particularly ornery one. Hopefully he had to grapple with it himself.

Luke joined her at the window with papers in hand. “Now I apologise my dear, but Mr Tarkin has published a new monograph on strawberries that is rumoured to be _quite_ shockingly controversial, his suggestions for the treatment of leaf spot alone—“

“It is perfectly well sir, I’m at an interesting point in my novel,” Rey responded to forestall a routine apology that would not alter his habit (and which she never needed, yet he had been raised with certain manners if only to grow to flaunt them).

Thus the two of them took their meal in a familiar and companionable silence punctuated only by the sounds of cutlery, turning pages, and occasional astonished ejaculations and pencil scribbling from the other side of the table. The pineapple was especially good, but it could not top the satisfaction had from her responding letter.

❀❧

My Lord Naberrie,

How kind of you, dear Benvolio, to take a moment from your busy schedule of frittering away your hours to write.

Indeed I am extremely well and Varykino continues splendidly; it has been many years since we last set eyes upon one another, and you graced us with your urbane presence in our thoroughly rustic existence.

In truth I am informed, by those close to me but not disposed to falsehoods, that I am no longer so much elbow and knee as I was in girlhood. You may choose to believe this or not, but it is the nature of quite ordinary growth and change. I must thus hold out hope for the softening influence of time upon your ears as well.

I care a very great deal for Varykino and its successful continuance and mean to do my duty, for I do not feel it is unwarranted to say of myself that I am not capricious when I have promised or resolved upon something. Indeed in other matters too it takes evidence to sway my opinion once decided.

However, if you have agreed that speaking plainly is best, I profess no wish to leave the estate at all nor any desire to greatly alter my own habits. Therefore, if you will do without my frequent performance at social appearances, I am content to be your Marchioness largely from some great distance; _manus manum lavat_.

You may thus keep to whatever pastimes so save you from idleness (and, one assumes, give you a deep and fulfilling happiness) entirely without my unwelcome influence, which I assure you would quickly become more so if I was forced into such a dull manner of living as you have laid out for me.

Indeed, when pondering bland things one is forced to wonder, Benedict, how your long sojourn at university was spent, if in correspondence you are so bravely able to resist any discernible influence of sources of learning.

Yet accounts of your social activities are more impressive I suppose. You have at least arranged such, that all likely matters considered, there are relatively scant reported occasions to cause anyone to question, _quis est haec simia_?

I must further inform you that it would be most unjust for any pony to now be saddled with me, and as my childhood was in fact some years ago I have my own mare. She came to me as a yearling for my birthday shortly after we last met, and she jumps as prettily as she gallops. I helped to train her myself and will not give her up on any account.

For my own activities my preference is to divide my time between daily riding; reading and my continued personal studies in the library as an incurable blue-stocking (especially in languages and natural science, are not the great _apes_ simply fascinating? Although they cannot compare to equines); and the happy company of like-minded friends.

With them I have such delightful conversation, and it is most droll that you mention _this_ subject for I do not recall any being forthcoming from you then either. Furthermore, I quite prefer coffee to any insipid gatherings around a pot of leaves.

Regarding other points you mentioned, I sing passably well I am told, but never spared time from overstuffing my brain and straining my eyes to play an instrument. Perhaps if I ever hit my head sharply and awaken not myself, I will be suitably encouraged to learn and give over my studious inclinations.

I admit I admired the mechano-pigeon designed by my dear friends the Mesdames Tico and Angkuadi, for it always pleases me to see their designs utilised. The artifice of it may amuse you, I suppose, as I am told such admiration is now common amongst the more modern-minded of the fashionable set. Yet I wonder if a hope of any deeper interest on your part in such inventions can be said to be _mulgere hircum_.

I wish you a good day when this letter finds you, hopefully not entirely dissipated from your prior evening.

Until the tolerable occasion of our wedding day,

Miss Nemesia.

P.S. Our dear Duke bids me include two recent portraits for your elucidation, so I must comply. The first is a painted miniature I am told is a very good likeness, sat for in evening dress, and the second a photograph of myself reading beneath my favourite tree.

I am sure you will excuse the latter for my mode of attire in the aesthetic style and for my looser hair. Being that you so value frankness of speech and manner I confess this is my more common garb at home, and as stated I have no desire to unmake myself.

❀❧

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of contraception & very briefly on childbearing (mentions will reoccur). Assumption of little sexual/reproductive autonomy (dubious consent) too, which won’t reoccur. / Undetailed mention of an injury from war (this is not a war story but warfare mentions will reoccur).
> 
> ***
> 
> [Red dun](https://pin.it/TKxy0s5) coloured horse.
> 
> Mid-1890s Victorian England average height for women was ~152.5cm/5’, so many women rode pony breeds.
> 
> _Corn_ here having the older meaning of cereal crop.
> 
> [Angkuadi Islands](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Angkuadi_islands) on Kef Bir.
> 
> What [Rose & Jannah's cottage](https://pin.it/6gBKQJu) might look like 😍
> 
> [Marshall & Snelgrove](https://pin.it/3rS9AUE) was one of the luxury Victorian London department stores. [A photo on Oxford St](https://pin.it/4skK73A) in the 1890s.
> 
> By the 1890s, outside of fantasy, people were aware of the dangers of [arsenic green](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scheele%27s_Green) (Queen Victoria had green wallpaper stripped from Buckingham Palace in 1879). However it was still used, & in a large percentage of late Victorian dress fabrics (arsenic was actually higher in other colours of dye like deep blues & reds). Clothing that came directly in contact with the skin (e.g. stockings) was worse for exposure, but the most harm was of course to factory workers & labourers producing & working with the dye & items. Sometimes people ate it deliberately too (see: ‘[complexion](https://pin.it/5wbg95A) [wafers](https://pin.it/7h5UMhv)’) so, uhhh…
> 
> Piebald is patches of white on black.
> 
> IRL the ‘Dutch Cap’ by [Alette Jacobs](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aletta_Jacobs) (& in America the [Womb Veil](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Womb_veil)) existed during this time as a precursor to the modern diaphragm, but had mixed success & could cause internal issues (from not being custom fitted). Such ‘occlusive pessaries’ were ground-breaking however for not relying on the say-so of the penis-having partner. Reliable sponges are later 20th century.
> 
> Some Edwardian advice on [combing](https://pin.it/2H3gAuD) & [resting](https://pin.it/5wtqVFX) the hair (in the same manner as late Victorian views on it).
> 
> A pinery was a speciality [hot-house for growing pineapples](https://pin.it/5PZpTAE), & was very popular amongst the wealthy in the Regency & much of the Victorian periods 🍍
> 
> _Azure, a griffin segreant argent_ – a blue shield with a silver (white) [griffin on it in a rearing, wings up posture](https://pin.it/1OvgsmX). In heraldry a griffin represents strength, military courage & leadership.
> 
> A note on historical entailment: until 1925 the nobility used entails AKA 'fee tails' to ensure the estate wasn't sold/mortgaged/divided, & that 'the land followed the noble title' – which was always subject to primogeniture – by passing whole to the eldest male 'heir of his body lawfully begotten' (no illegitimacy or adoption). Under a 'strict settlement' (AKA 'English entail') these heirs would only have a life interest rather than personal ownership, i.e. effectively be holding the estate in trust for the coming generations. Legally, entails were _not_ by default male only (see: 'fee tail female'), as has become shorthand, but the nobility usually set them up that way for the title. An entail could also be written to require the heir to take the noble family name if he did not already have it.
> 
> However, land couldn't legally be tied up in perpetuity so an entail of this type would continue for usually 3 generations & then need to be re-settled again, often upon the heir's marriage, in the same strict manner (or perhaps with some smaller areas of land then agreed as acceptable to sell while retaining the majority). This re-settlement could be accomplished if needed by bullying the next heir to agree through threatening his living allowance. While ways of breaking an entail were simplified after 1833, the nobility generally didn’t want the shame of future holders of a title ending up landless. (Anakin would have wanted to break the tail for debt by the end of his shortened life but Luke said nope you'll just blow it all, & fought it, thus extra ~family friction~).
> 
> _Manus manum lavat_ – ‘one hand washes the other’; give and take.
> 
> _Quis est haec simia_? – ‘who is this monkey’? 🐒
> 
> _Mulgere hircum_ – 'to milk a male goat'; pointless.
> 
> 💜 for kudos & comments.


	3. Varykino to Grimtaash House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lord Naberrie has cause to repent, via mechano-pigeon; The Duke, Aureylia and company travel to the City of Theed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many things are difficult so I hope you enjoy my escapism.

❈

My dear Miss Aureylia Nemesia,

Immediately I must offer my sincerest apologies for such a great misjudgement as I have ever before made in my life. I would beg you to disregard the unworthy and hastily professed sentiments of my prior missive, but I fear that with the percipience you display you would be unable.

Neither can I claim to have been seized by some wicked impulse much out of character, instead of possessing aspects of my person in which, while long causing trouble for myself, I now find very acute and edifying mortification.

Indeed, you are certainly no longer the child I once encountered, neither in intellect as you have made so very apparent (again, to my deserved embarrassment, _mea maxima culpa_ ), nor in aspect, which I am unable to stop my hand from confessing has blossomed into the most undeniable loveliness.

Unlike, you will find, my ears, which to my misfortune are merely disguised by my valet’s cunning at wielding scissors.

It is arrogance that ever led me to entertain the notion that my uncle, of all people, would scrimp upon the matter of your education, or that you would not do him proud by taking to it with matched enthusiasm. I pray you will continue merrily with your blue-stockinged habits and can only admire the effect.

In truth, despite my delinquent reputation I have always found time for my library, and it has ever been the case that _in omnibus requiem quaesivi, et nusquam inveni nisi in angulo cum libro_. I hope in this matter and many others we may find common ground.

I beg that the Duke and yourself will join me upon the weekend after next for dinner at Grimtaash House, that I may come to know you better before the occasion of your birthday and evince the sincerity of my apology in person.

An olive branch (to my purpose best coupled with purple hyacinth and peach blossom), extended before our wedding is finalised.

In light of such a posy not being in season, it will honour me if you shall accept these tokens of my heartfelt regard: a bloom from my city garden, and a brooch I hope will be to your taste. It is from an Alderaanian jeweller in Theed beloved by my mother (you have doubtless heard some of the tale of her adoption, and the Organa family resided in Aldera).

Although I make no claim to the title of Corinthian I too ride daily, and take pleasure in driving my team at four-in-hand. When travelling in the Kingdom of Chandrila I sought as my mount one of the Friesian crossbreeds so loved by that region’s people as an athletic ‘sports horse’ type, and the grand fellow I resolved on gives over to his principal part (as necessitated by my stature) yet with some Arabian in him in respect to my exceeding love of a spirited nature.

Here I must extend another apology: I was unaware of your mare, doubtless due to my own lack of listening, and even the unintentional suggestion that you would separate from her in future is as repugnant to me as the thought of doing so from my own stallion. You may consider a stall in the Grimtaash stable as always her own.

I allow myself to also hope we may have further discussion on equestrian matters, for I find I am able to do so for extended periods and often regardless of the enjoyment of the other party.

During my long and happy time reading classics at Cambridge for my undergraduate and graduate studies I rowed for Pembroke, and still scull as regularly as I can on the River Solleu. As for all else, I frequently enjoy the new manner of strengthening the body with weighted dumb-bells, and shoot game and stalk deer in season at Falconwood Park with my mother and her guests (but we do not ever hunt or partake in other blood-sports).

Time is ripe for reflection upon my future, as you so intimated and show by example, and what I see could fill my belly with a true and hearty happiness, rather than continuing unthinkingly to consume the chaff of my many vices. I mean to no longer be given to excess imbibing or profligacy at cards, and henceforth expect to see the interior of my home far more upon an evening.

I did so last night; re-reading diaries from my travels and pouring over Mandalorian grammars was an enjoyable way to pass several hours. Should you ever like to travel?

My uncle gifted me the mechanoid, as I am also an admirer of the wider work of Mesdames Tico and Angkuadi. You are fortunate indeed to count them as friends, and as I surmise that your knowledge on the subject will far outstrip my own I hope it will be another topic for our future conversation.

My family adopted the technology early and in addition to R2, my mother’s mechano-butler (a Chamberlain Mk. 3, Protocol Officer edition) has long been in the family. I also have a more modern Domestic Double-Cog on my kitchen staff.

However, Ptolemy Dameron y Beyborough, Vizconde Dameron (eldest son of the Conde de Wetyin, of Yavin), my long-time friend more alike to a brother, is staying with me at present and possesses a possibly more interesting mechano-dog that is two years recent. Dameron has become close to your friend Sir Finnbheara and frequently visits him at Oxford. With end of term imminent I mean to invite Sir Finnbheara to the dinner as well, if you accept.

While I find now that I have many other things to write of to you, it will not do to go to several pages. So I must declare myself and remain,

Ever your servant,

Benjamin Organa Solo Skywalker.

P.S. I enclose my own aspect rendered in miniature by a painter faithful to the realist style (for good or ill), and hope that if the portrait do not please you, at least it do not further offend.

❈

Rey slapped the pages face down on the chintz settee in the morning room as if they could burn her, and turned the small portrait over in her hand.

She had been impatient for several weeks to discover the identity of Finn’s person of interest, yet the unexpectedly supplied information was the _least_ extraordinary aspect of her delivery.

The whole of it startled her, after steeling herself for an unpleasant reply but receiving her first ever romantic overtures (she did not count the time when at eleven years old a village boy gave her a rather impressive frog she liked but then pulled her braids, and so she kicked him before Finn stepped in to break it up). 

Lord Naberrie’s gifts, expelled (with difficulty) from the metal belly of his bird, sat in cradled in their protective crêpe paper in her lap. The beautiful rose, trimmed of all thorns and only a little wilted from the warm weather journey. Its abundance of dark and light pink petals released a gentle aroma so evocative of the season as she glared at it.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Kaydel raising her eyebrows over her darning work.

“A cabbage rose, as we call them. Sent as his envoy for your affection is the meanin’. That bauble is to your style as well. He must have shopped for it just this mornin’…”

The brooch _was_ Rey’s style, and exactly the sort of elegant gift an observant person might buy her after studying her pictures and letter. Sinuous curves of gold surrounded an oval green tourmaline at centre, with two smaller, offset diamonds and three pale and iridescent opals hanging beneath.

She had never worn diamonds, being yet to come of age, and the Alderaanian design bore similarities to the Nabooian Arts and Crafts style she loved so much, yet looked even finer. In a word it was stunning, such as she would gladly buy herself if able and thrilling to receive from another.

All of these elements made her peevish.

Kaydel clucked her tongue. “But fancy, Miss Aureylia your face is a picture of discord so I hope Lord Naberrie is at least a looker. It’s hard to tell from those photographs in the society pages, they’re ever so murky.”

Rey angled the head-and-neck portrait toward Kaydel, and the young woman hummed before snipping her thread with the small silver scissors of her sewing chatelaine. “Well he does have a toppin’ look about him. Is he a sportin’ sort of man, or a brainbox? You can tell he’s tall in the photographs anyway.”

“Evidently I am able to give positive confirmation on all three counts now, and his mount sounds likely to be _enormous_!”

Kaydel blinked, dropping her darning and falling back upon the sofa arm in laughter. After a moment Rey realised why and warmed about her neck, demurring loudly. “Oh do stop! I will tell you nothing further if you do not!”

Her lady’s maid wiped at her eyes. “Oh! Oh dear! No problems in that department then,” she wheezed out, giggling again.

Rey huffed, and returned to the small painting that vexed her.

It was not that she wished her husband-to-be would look unhandsome (for she had a healthy amount of self-interest), but Lord Naberrie still strongly appealing to certain of her sensibilities made Rey, at present, several different varieties of quarrelsome.

Age had only aided the unusual sort of beauty in his angular face. Balanced by the generous mouth, the aquiline nose. The sable waves of his side-parted hair rested above his collar, worn longer than typical for the past few years and cut as artfully as promised to layer over his infamous ears.

Kaydel, back to leaning over Rey’s arm, ventured, “I like a moustache though. Pity.”

“I certainly do not!” Rey snapped, before clearing her throat and teasing, “You just hope some of the village lads will grow very splendid ones before the harvest festival.”

Kaydel covered her laugh with her hand, but did not deny it.

Lord Naberrie sported no facial hair at all, and this pleased Rey at least. He did not _look_ degenerate either, even under close inspection (although she conceded she had no idea how that would translate to appearance), and he had a sad air if it was not her own fancy running away with itself to think so.

“What do purple hyacinth and peach blossom mean?” Rey asked, frowning at the letter again. She had considered floriography one of the least worthwhile of her decorum lessons and strove not to commit it to permanent memory. Kaydel, on the other hand, possessed an interest.

“Oh he’s layin’ it on thick he is! He’s said _please forgive me, I am your captive_. Ah dear, from your expression this whole while you look like you want to reply to him with candytuft and lavender.”

“What does that signify?”

“Indifference and distrust! Although I don’t think the former would really be true now, would it, Miss Aureylia? The mount at least sounds promisin’.” Kaydel chortled again and cast her a sharp-eyed glance.

“I don’t at all know what you mean,” Rey lied.

She remained in high dudgeon with the man who could not make up his mind, at one moment disliking her and begging her forgiveness the next. He was quick with harsh words and quite self-absorbed, she already knew this well, so he could probably likewise be prompt with sweet remarks when necessary.

But a knot inside her unclenched now that the pony matter had settled with good understanding on his part, and it pleased her that he did not set himself against a feminine passion for learning. Intellectual discussion with him could be rousing and agreeable, she allowed.

Certainly it was pleasant and convenient that he, in the way of his father, had a love of horses.

Rey quite vividly pictured the man in the portrait on an impressive mount or driving four-in-hand, and her heart rate sped up.

* * *

“Oh ho, I am not quite so much of a foolish old bygone after all in matters of young men!” Luke winked at her, brandishing the letter from his wicker chair in the verdant conservatory, beside a table bearing a seed chest, pen and labels. “I see after sufficient motivation my nephew has decided to seat himself at the negotiating table, as it were. Very good, my sister’s not getting any bally younger at only two minutes more spry than my threescore and five!” He chortled at his own joke.

“Benjamin was exceptionally late begotten into this world and a late-born arrival as well— a colicky one too! His infant habits returned with a vengeance, so perhaps _this_ will finally be cause to alter himself to what I believe is more his true nature. Well, your coming out fast approaches and Connix will find great joy in further use and expansion of your wardrobe. I am afraid it can no longer be put off.”

For a moment the Duke’s face looked drawn, aged a further ten years before he composed himself. An excessive reaction, yet it made her ache to turn back the clock, to the time when matters seemed easier with just the two of them to consider.

“I will accept his invitation and we will weekend at Grimtaash. We will make a very quiet occasion of it— and I will _most_ _certainly_ instruct him not to invite too many people to dinner! Yes I will need to approve his guest list— but we will travel nonetheless. My sister is unlikely to join us… hmm… but perhaps we may all meet at Falconwood Park. Yes, _yes_ I shall write to her also! At any rate Benjamin will soon spend more time there, with his favourite boat races and derbies and such like tomfoolery of the town season coming to an end.

“Now, my dear. I may be an old bachelor but I will extend another recommendation with confidence: if you also wish to reply to young Benjamin, forbear any impulse to express great pleasure at this reveal of his inner gentleness. Is it not true that a measure of rebuffed yearning can galvanise a man? He is most assuredly such a type, it is a family trait.”

No experience of Rey’s existed to tell her whether this _was_ true, and she had already returned the bird empty so forbearance needed no instruction, but she took Luke at his word.

Her stomach tumbled and churned at the thought of spending time with Lord Naberrie at Grimtaash House, even if it should mean seeing Finn as well. Thus the idea of doing so a second time in quick succession did not fill her with added bonhomie.

But it would be good to see Lady Leia and visit her home at last, and it was inevitable that she share the same space as her future husband at some point.

* * *

In the end Lady Leia pre-empted her brother and a mechano-pigeon arrived for the Duke that evening, which he allowed Rey to read.

✯

Dear Luke,

I apologise profusely for whatever Benjamin’s recent behaviour has been to Aureylia and yourself by extension. But enough of that, what is a commonplace grows tiresome and hope is now like the sun; at length we are in the season for it. You shall have less cause to worry about certain matters, which does both our hearts good.

While he would not share the specifics of any of their correspondence (how very provoking) her response shamed him into sending me a contrite letter this morning, at an earlier hour than I believed he ever woke, for ignoring my judgment regarding her lovely self. Good for her!

Please tell Aureylia that a stern set-down did Mr Solo a world of good when he was still acting the scoundrel prior to our engagement. I should have known Benjamin would get _that_ from his father.

To capture this brand new moment I believe a stay at Falconwood Park will benefit the lot of us, as soon as possible. It will be advantageous to their happiness if our two spend time together before marrying now that Benjamin is amenable, and Amilyn and I will certainly enjoy the company.

Amilyn sends her best and I hope your latest lettuce efforts held up. After your last letter I should tell you as a concerned sister to avoid further inflaming monographs, but I’ll warrant I am already too late.

Yours,

Leia.

✯

Rey waited another two days to reply to Lord Naberrie, as did his uncle to accept the invitation. While the Duke was never dilatory in correspondence they both considered it good for his nephew.

❀❧

My Lord Naberrie,

I thank you for your candid letter. _Vulpes pilum mutat, non mores_.

Sincerely,

Miss Aureylia Nemesia.

❀❧

* * *

Friday morning dawned and after breakfast Kaydel dressed Rey for the journey, in a smart travelling suit of brown cashmere embellished with brass buttons (but a minimal gigot sleeve to the jacket, at Rey’s insistence).

Beforehand she donned silk and lace combinations; stockings and a pink paisley corset; a frilled lace cover for some light bust improvement; a quilted hip pad to heighten her curves and waist; light petticoats; and a silk blouse.

In part Rey’s uncharacteristic attitude to full attire was because Luke warned it could get nippy on the train if any windows were open, but on this day she did wish to look her public best as well. So she sat with abnormal docility for the whole of Kaydel’s styling and skin preparations.

Gloves hid the rougher skin than fashionable upon her hands and the marks of damage to her short nails; she rarely wore them at Varykino. To complete the look Kaydel angled a feather-trimmed hat (with a veil for dust) upon Rey’s hair, which she had pulled into a low, thick chignon.

“There, I almost pity the poor coxcomb. We’ll have him trailin’ after you like Skilamalink when Dora brings in the dairy pails.”

Once again Rey had the familiar sensation of being her lady’s maid’s personal and often challenging project, whose own mixed feelings on any such trailing were not central to consideration.

At Rey’s last look in the mirror she sternly rallied her spirit not to allow the return of that unwelcome feeling – inadequacy – in the manner of four years prior. It would be intolerable after _he_ now ate crow, at least in correspondence.

* * *

The half past midday train pulled out of Shaakhill Station with its chimney belching great grey clouds, and after only ten minutes of their two and a half hour journey the Duke sighed and looked at his pocket watch.

He complained vociferously for a time about the inconvenience of travel until he declared Rey should wake him if they wished to go to the dining car for a spot of luncheon, and promptly fell asleep against the red velvet seating of their first class compartment.

Kaydel travelled as Rey’s companion beside her, which in truth she frequently was, and she crocheted while glancing out the window with a turbulent expression. She had marvelled at the massive locomotive but this was also her first railway experience, unlike Rey’s medical trip, and having been born in a village in County Naberrie the extent of her travels were carriage visits to her parents and younger brothers.

Kaydel read the periodicals and followed the fashion plates for both her role and personal enjoyment (and in the prior week _had_ studied _Baedeker’s Theed, 2 nd ed._) but her interest now seemed more scholastic than desirous of viewing the fashions in person in a large and unfamiliar city.

On the other hand, after Rey’s surge of panic at leaving her familiar shire as they embarked (during which she and Kaydel clutched at each other and talked of anything else as distraction), she enjoyed the opportunity to see more of Naboo. Over one hundred and twenty miles of it was promised, and she unwound her veil to better gaze out the window, wiggling her button boots as the rolling countryside zipped by in comparison to any other mode of travel.

For the first time Rey’s feet itched to cover a wider expanse than she knew, and after her coming out she _would_ have the ability to take trips further afield as Jannah had suggested, and Lord Naberrie questioned. To travel to places encountered while curled in her favourite library chair engrossed in a book, even to her friends’ motherlands. So long as she always came home again.

Soon enough the interspersed wooded areas, farmland, and villages small and large across two counties gave over to greater towns, and finally to Theed’s rather dreary outskirts and the busy city districts of so many buildings beyond.

Aided by porters they prevailed against the echoing din and confusion of Paddington Station, and outside, to Rey’s delight, Luke nodded to the red liveried coachman of an impressive private drag, with two footmen counterparts on the hind seat.

The shiny black carriage of most modern driving design had red and gold wheels, the Skywalker coat of arms she knew well, plus a _wyvern sejant with wings expanded or_ beneath it that could only be Lord Naberrie’s. It harnessed four fine matched bays and could take sixteen, of whom twelve would sit on the roof, according to the coachman who answered her questions in cheerful bemusement.

From Varykino to Shaakhill the party had taken the Duke’s older landau in a far more uncomfortable and compressed journey, akin to a hothouse with its ageing, soft sides closed against road dust. Rey spent near two hours questioning Luke’s wisdom of layers. In comparison the swift drag made that conveyance look entirely outmoded, not that she expected the Duke noticed or would indeed care.

Rey settled against the blue leather upholstery, clasped her hands tightly together, and questioned Luke about the city to still her inner flutters. Its press of buildings passed by down one street and the next all cobblestone and gaggles of the latest fashions, innumerable wheels and racket.

They came upon Mayfair, and rounded the park-side location of Grosvenor Square with its grand sweeps of residences, each attached to their neighbours.

At six storeys above the basement level Grimtaash House prevailed over most other buildings in the vicinity. A red brick town home trimmed with white, and spanning five windows wide. She had to prevent herself from pressing her nose to the carriage glass.

On the lower steps stood two men in the dark, cutaway jackets of upper servants. The balding and rotund of whom (florid even from a distance) had to be the butler, while the younger gave the air of a valet.

Finally, on the landing beneath the pediment and column bedecked front door Lord Naberrie himself came into view, scanning the street with the look of a hunting man. His head near touched the lintel and he imposed in his morning suit of dark grey with lighter trousers, further matured in four years into the picture of a self-possessed gentleman, with yet more brawn.

Rey’s stomach gave a peculiar little flip; his accounts of athletic activities had not been exaggerations.

As the footmen leapt down to open the carriage door and she stepped out in a sweep of skirts, Lord Naberrie bounded down the stairs all energetic virility. She bit back a gasp at the man now in front of her.

Last month Mrs Wexley said Rey had grown into a _strapping gel_ over the past two years, compared to when they met in Rey's eighth autumn. She did not feel so here. Her memory of him was no intimidated artifact of childhood.

She tilted up her chin past the broad chest, the plum silk ascot with diamond pin beneath starched collar points, and the hair inviting to the hand without excessive Macassar oil, to meet his eyes in challenge with her jaw set. Rey would not alter her straightforward manner entirely, even with the lessons of her cheerless etiquette and dance instructor echoing in her mind.

His dark amber gaze lingered on her with a flash of something heated behind it and a twitch of his full lips— akin to looks she had seen exchanged between sweethearts on the estate— before he turned to address his uncle, as was proper, and bowed.

“Duke, it is good to have you here again and you both honour my dinner tonight. I apologise I could not collect you myself. I hope you are well?”

“Benjamin, dear boy.” Despite the Duke appearing drawn and depleted from travel he clasped his nephew’s shoulder and straightened him, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “My bones threaten and complain daily and I must have my cane, so I am very much _heartened_ I was not also subjected to any of your dashed drag racing! But you at least look in fine health, and by very recent accounts you are conducting yourself more in a manner to keep it. Coming to your senses at last, what? Not going to grow into a roué after all!” His eyes twinkled with private amusement.

“And call me _uncle_ as usual, blast it. I won’t have you as well as the others standing on ceremony, going around exclaiming titles in every mouthful. Even if you are inspired to be on your _very_ best behaviour.”

Lord Naberrie acquiesced with a dip of his head and a soft chuckle (although the muscle beneath his left eye twitched violently, and regarding plain-spokenness the apple had not fallen far from the wider familial tree).

“Miss Nemesia,” he addressed Rey in turn in a rich, low tone, taking her gloved hand for a prolonged press of his lips. Yes, she had not been mistaken; Lord Naberrie’s voice was deeper than she remembered. “ _Aureylia_ , how glad I am to meet you again finally, in person. You are very well I can see.”

A falsehood surely with cinders from the railway upon her, not to mention earlier carriage dust and general frazzlement, but none would know it from the way he let his eyes slide down her ensemble while stroking a thumb over her knuckles (and quite without censure with Luke again distracted by his pocket watch).

 _Best behaviour_ was a relative term, then.

The blush that suffused Rey’s cheeks and her overwhelmed stare at Lord Naberrie’s bearing, words _and_ actions gained recognition in a rather too smug lopsided smile, so she pulled back her hand in a manner only slightly shy of rude. Yet instead of taking offence he set his shoulders; militant as if facing a challenge in which he believed he stood a fighting chance of victory.

“How do you do, Lord Naberrie? You are most kind,” she managed to voice with stiff formality over her dry tongue, biting back annoyance at her missish reaction.

“Benjamin, or better yet Ben, to you please. Naberrie if you _really_ must,” he entreated despite the furrow in her brow and her parting mouth. “Do come inside. Canady, my butler, will assist your maid in directing the footmen with your luggage.”

“R2 is powered down and wrapped in horse blankets with the rest of it,” supplied Luke, leaning wearily on his cane and his nephew’s proffered arm.

“Good lord, I didn’t expect the most venerable clockwork to travel! It _is_ a special occasion,” Lord Naberrie remarked in amusement as he conveyed them through the richly decorated front hall to the main staircase. “Dents must be the smaller of the many concerns for him, he’s an heirloom!”

Rey turned her head in an arc, distracted by the generous and oddly familiar space beneath the formal gaze of his half-length portrait looking down at them from the first floor landing. Clearly the lord’s fear of the threat to his living allowance was because his uncle, and likely also his parents’ fortune from business interests, were generous with it.

A memory flickered of the view from this very spot once seeming loftier and daunting. Of course; she and the Duke must have stayed here for the night during her childhood visit to the physician. An evocative shiver ran down her spine, but a modern alteration she credited to the current tenant held brighter interest. Varykino had none of them, slow to modernise on a grand scale (a common affliction amongst stately country homes).

“These are all the new incandescent gas-light fittings, aren’t they?” she blurted out, before realising the men were still in discussion and snapping her mouth shut.

Lord Naberrie regarded her with a warmth both in his eyes and tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes they are, good spotting. I had the whole house converted last year and it is a great improvement. Well, uncle, there is still quite some time before dinner and doubtless you wish to rest before dressing. Mitaka will take you up to your usual suite, my houseguests can meet you later. Shall I have anything sent up?”

“No no, I’ll ring if I get peckish.” Luke waved off his nephew, who passed the grateful looking Duke over to his black haired, pallid and rather nervy looking valet and fixed his attention on Rey as they departed.

“ _Aureylia aurea est_ indeed… so very well named. By God, the portrait did not capture how striking your eyes are, and together with your hair… little wonder you should favour a Pre-Raphaelite style. I must again declare my _utmost_ sincerity in my apologies and thank you for your grace in accepting my invitation. I will try to be worthy of it. I hope the journey was not too difficult?”

“The latter two legs of the three certainly, my lord,” she replied cautiously, at a loss for how to answer anything else he said and rankled by his repeated familiarity she had not, in fact, yet granted.

“No, don’t tell me the current ducal conveyance is still my grandfather’s fusty old soft-topped thing— in the _countryside_ — and you bumping about in it? It was dreadful when my mother and I last visited and I told him he should modernise!”

Her lips twitched despite herself, imagining how well Luke would have taken such direction. “The very same. We have a gig and farm carts too, but I prefer to ride. You likely know he says that—”

“If it’s still going, why ask it to stop!” Lord Naberrie supplied with a chuckle at her confirming brief smile. “For a man who is happy to sponsor experimental technology for the general betterment, my uncle can be _remarkably_ set in his ways about some of his own concerns. The portly automaton is dear to him, yet his state coach sits under dust covers in the carriage house here with its swagged box cloth packed away. The most action the poor thing ever sees is polishing and dustings of the ducal gilt, with very rare jaunts when he decides to sit in the Lords!”

Rey could not suppress a more toothy giggle, regardless of wariness or tutored good manners, and a flicker of stunned pleasure crossed Lord Naberrie’s face before blooming into striking dimples. His eyes crinkled into half-moons, and as he stepped closer so came a subtle waft of _eau de Cologne_. Fresh and herbaceous with a richer woodiness beneath, reminiscent of parklands. She breathed a little deeper.

“I suppose we should be thankful he doesn’t go about in my _great_ - _great_ -grandfather’s sedan chair,” he added in a conspiratorial tone, and when Rey laughed outright he looked like nothing so much as a man who had won a particularly good prize.

“Well, I look forward to _much_ further conversation, but I understand Sir Finnbheara is eager to see you again—” she gave a surprised, happy squeak— “and Lord Dameron possibly even more so to make your acquaintance. They are in the mahogany drawing room on the first floor if you are willing to meet with them immediately, for my friend, at least, is a very restive sort of fellow.”

He inclined his head, regarding Rey for a moment beneath his lashes in a manner that flustered her again, before leading the way upstairs.

Lord Naberrie did not act as meek in person as his apologetic letter might have suggested, but his determined attentiveness was, currently, as written. For all that receiving such heady consideration stirred her in a new and satisfying way, Rey reminded herself to be careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No CW.
> 
> ***
> 
>  _Mea maxima culpa_ – through my most grievous fault.
> 
>  _In omnibus requiem quaesivi, et nusquam inveni nisi in angulo cum libro_ – everywhere I have searched for peace and nowhere found it, except in a corner with a book.
> 
> Arabo-Friesian only became a registered breed term in the 1960s _but_ I really like [Friesian](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friesian_horse)s (once a medieval warhorse), sport-horse crossbreeds with them were very popular in Europe in the late 19th C, & Athletic!Ben’s too big for a poor Arabian (which felt temperamentally suitable…).
> 
> Dumbbells? The 1890s saw Eugen Sandow (‘The Father of Modern Bodybuilding’) lauded for [his beefy physique](https://pin.it/2mXTmCe). Very Ben Swolo (and Corinthian-like…) of him.
> 
>  _Hunting_ – fox or other animals pursued by horseback with hounds. Considered a _blood sport_ i.e. not for food purposes. _Shooting_ – birds. _Stalking_ – deer.
> 
> [Wetyin’s Colony](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Wetyin%27s_Colony) (the Bey-Dameron homestead site) on Yavin 4.
> 
> Some Art Nouveau [brooch](https://pin.it/5ejPjA7) [inspiration](https://pin.it/3L6zF4A).
> 
> [Silver sewing chatelaine](https://pin.it/YfgbQh7).
> 
>  _Vulpes pilum mutat, non mores_ – the fox changes his fur, not his habits.
> 
> A gorgeous, curvy [pink paisley corset](https://pin.it/43fxGGA). An 1890s & Edwardian [hip pad/bustle pad](https://pin.it/7upJUCT) (how most women got the shape; not by tightlacing). A photo of a woman in a [plainer travelling suit (& fancier hat)](https://pin.it/1fL9tAJ).
> 
> [Baedeker](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baedeker) travel guides.
> 
> A [private drag](https://pin.it/4ZZyQF6) (US: park drag). The large, fast sportscar of its time and the gentleman’s staple of four-in-hand driving clubs.
> 
>  _Wyvern sejant with wings expanded or_ – a golden wyvern (similar to a dragon but with only two legs and a serpent’s tail) [resting upright](https://pin.it/64ORiTK) upon its legs and curled tail, and spreading its wings. Wyverns represent valour and protection but were sometimes seen as the ‘evil sort’ of dragon due to the serpent element.
> 
>  _Bay_ – a brown horse with black points on the mane, tail, ears and lower legs.
> 
> An early [landau carriage](https://pin.it/7Dug7gl), an aristocratic town coach.
> 
> [Grosvenor Square in 1813](https://pin.it/5E9SHfl), the Georgian buildings were often expanded upon in the Victorian era (e.g. vs [today](https://pin.it/yP6uaaD)).
> 
>  _Roué_ – a debauched and usually elderly man. (More a term of Luke's childhood era.)
> 
>  _Aureylia aurea est_ – Aureylia is golden/gilded. (Aurelia is derived from _aureus._ )
> 
> [Ducal state coach](https://pin.it/137n1ho), 1820s.
> 
> I have Guerlain’s _eau de Cologne Hégémonienne_ (released 1890) in mind for Ben. Victorian scent profiles were intense.
> 
> 💜 for kudos & comments.


	4. A Dinner of Several Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A lavish dinner and a confrontation soften old wounds and lead to a stimulating new experience._

Finn rose courteously from a leather chesterfield sofa as Rey entered the dark wood room on the first floor, decorated with more personal touches of framed travellers’ maps, curios, and family photographs.

So too did the brunet coiffed, olive-skinned gentleman beside him of perhaps Lord Naberrie’s age, who sported a curled and voluminous moustache (unfortunately dulling his good looks) and could only be Lord Dameron.

Her joy at seeing her friend was instantaneous and mutual, for Finn kissed her cheek with brotherly affection as they clasped each other’s arms.

“Gosh, up close enough to see the cinders I’m assured it _is_ incontrovertibly you and not some near-Rey likeness,” he chaffed her with a grin, knowing her usual manner of dress. “What a relief you’re not some natty doppelgänger!”

Rey’s lips twitched and her chest lightened. Finn looked very well indeed; although currently some tension showed in his shoulders his bearing had strengthened, and his cropped black hair lay combed in stylish, tight waves. A modern look to match his blue, three-piece suit so flattering to his deep complexion. Also recent was his mercifully more trim moustache, and the highest accolade she had for it was at least it did not render him _less_ handsome.

“I shall ignore all that and say I’m so glad you are able to attend,” she retorted archly, “but I expected you would be at The Savoy until this evening!”

“I will be next week rather than returning immediately to Amity, if you wish to fling me a pigeon. Naberrie very kindly asked me to stay here for the weekend rather than at my usual city lodgings, so I shall see you a great deal more.”

Finn spoke in all politeness referencing their host, and she noted his use of a more familiar granted nomenclature with something she would not allow as pleasure. Yet Rey could tell he wrestled with his desire to support her at Grimtaash, with his loyal feelings to her future marital happiness in light of what he knew and detested of Lord Naberrie’s behaviour, as well as his new beau’s long friendship with the man.

If, perhaps, he had struggled with how to inform her of the latter connection, and held off, she understood it.

“Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing his forearm before adding: “Thick as thieves,” in an even softer voice after the motto of their childhood fellowship. His countenance instantly showed relief and they shared a speaking look before turning to their host for his introduction.

Lord Naberrie left off fiddling with a cufflink and cleared his throat. “Now, Miss Aureylia Nemesia, may I present this devil: Ptolemy, Lord Dameron. I will ever be glad to Sir Finnbheara for catching his affections because the man is an incorrigible flirt and I should not like be at outs with a brother.”

Lord Dameron, in light grey with an embroidered waistcoat she recognised as Yavinian in motif, laughed loudest of all and reached for her hand to kiss it familiarly, to her surprise. She could imagine Kaydel’s face if her glove later bore moustache wax.

“I cannot claim it is a lie, how do you do? Call me Poe, if I may be so bold. Although to Solo I will forever be Dameron after our early schooling and he likewise,” he said with a grin. “I know I shall be seeing a great deal more of you in future, now on two accounts, and I hope we will become friends.”

“I hope so too, and am equally glad to meet you for Finn’s sake. I did not for a moment flatter myself that I am the sole, or even primary, reason he is so readily in Theed during his break,” she jested, and the man they spoke about attempted to repress a bashful smile. “So you must call me Rey as well.”

Beside her Lord Naberrie made a barely audible, chagrined sound (which, by his laughing eyes, Poe noticed) at the quick granting of her sobriquet she had not near to allowed him.

Rey did not leave a great deal of time for resting, before dinner. Instead, without stopping to refresh herself she was questioned by Poe, whose forthrightness she liked, and caught up on news by Finn. He expected high exam results and, she noted with a smile while watching him watch Poe, his fingers frequently found their way to a new golden abacus fob with tiny moving beads, on an equally ornate chain she would bet was Yavinian.

She laughed with both of them and returned Vizconde Dameron’s ready humour for long enough that Lord Naberrie rang for afternoon refreshments, content himself to make the occasional comment and watch her closely, without attempt to guard his expressive face. As if something about her aspect were fashioned to be admired, and sitting near enough that despite the size of the sofas if she wished to reach out a hand to touch him, she could.

Rey steeled her mulish disposition regarding the man and his niceties. She did not have a short memory, and the wisdom of foxes and fur remained forefront in her mind.

Poe’s mechano-dog at length appeared by scratching at the door, and so she met Bébé as well. A rotund and shiny creature in the manner of a corgi, who could surely hold his own against R2 or at least outpace him.

She had not seen this design in manufacture and while less detailed to the eye than a Tico-Angkuadi pigeon, their sophisticated touch was unmistakable.

Some shared, ground-dwelling automaton enmity prevailed, however; Bébé at first sat looking expectantly skyward in front of the mahogany mechano-receiver box, beneath a window bearing a tell-tale avian flap.

* * *

In a comfortable cream bedroom on the second floor Rey yielded again to Kaydel’s expertise, with a view of the green square and a vase of the same roses on a side table by the bed.

Making her toilette turned out to be a luxury experience, thanks to Lord Naberrie’s modern tastes.

That it occurred in a bathroom rather than a copper hip tub in her dressing room was new, and flowing hot water proved a revelation. “A ruddy miracle we could do with upstairs at Varykino, pardon my language,” as Kaydel put it. So too the sitz _and_ foot baths, and a shower. A porcelain lavatory sitting proud as a throne, rather than a bench seat water closet in a cupboard at the end of a hallway. All exactly as in newspaper advertisements.

Varykino’s most recent sanitation innovations had been the grand enterprise of the late Duchess some forty years prior, yet without further modernisation regions of the vast house still required commodes and the overworked boiler long plumbed cold upstairs. Rey did not share Luke’s convictions on the healthfulness of chilly immersions in his ducal bathtub.

Here, lying back in warm bath water scented with provided oils, Rey agreed wholeheartedly with Lord Naberrie’s judgment on the Duke’s contrary, or perhaps horticulturally distracted, application of technological noblesse oblige in his own home. She could not fathom forgoing _this_.

Kaydel topped Rey’s dressed hair with a carved horn comb and scented it and her neck with essence of honeysuckle. From her lady’s options she had laid out a purple dinner dress of silk taffeta and Rey wondered if this nodded to Lord Naberrie’s ascot.

The bodice wrapped over itself to form neckline baring some décolletage, and hugged her waist before the skirt flowed out beneath. But it also boasted such a pouf of elbow-length sleeves in contrasting magenta that Rey narrowed her eyes at the woman, who remained unbudgeable; her defiant charge had already spurned any tightening of stay-laces, for as usual Rey meant to eat a great deal.

“But fancy,” Kaydel murmured with an arch of a brow in the mirror as she saw to the hooks and eyes, “you pretendin’ you don’t look a treat in this. You don’t even need a rouge pot.” To her captive audience she added pointedly: “His Lordship _certainly_ knows how to dress as a gentleman, doesn’t he? Now don’t you eat vinegar with a fork with him tonight either.”

While Rey attached the amethyst drop earrings of her demi-parure set Kaydel’s nimble fingers dipped in to pin Lord Naberrie’s brooch at her centre neckline. After a moment’s protest considering it may give him ideas, Rey allowed that it was probably not unreasonable to wear a gift from the man she would in fact marry.

Even with fussy elements she could do without the whole ensemble made her smile, and the tourmaline and opals did flatter her eyes.

* * *

To the relief of Rey’s stomach the foretokening dinner gong sounded as she descended the main staircase, with gloves in hand to be donned at the last possible moment before entering the drawing room (for Rey found it ridiculous to only remove them again for eating).

She concentrated on her deportment, remembering books balanced upon her younger head, but her neck heated and her legs wobbled while Lord Naberrie gazed up from the foot, with an unfocussed expression as if subject to mesmerism.

His black dinner jacket and dark lilac waistcoat with matching bowtie highlighted the breadth of his shoulders and promised of the muscular sportsman beneath. He extended a hand, likewise bare, and at the first touch of his fingers to hers there erupted such an intense sort of sensation, like static and yet not, that she jolted.

Whether a natural phenomenon or some strange, prophetic thing she could not determine, nor could she in truth decide which she wished it to be.

Clearly he felt it too, and rather than judge her callused, freckled hand engulfed in his softer palm he looked down at where they joined as if fewer sights should please him greater, and his hand shook.

Nerves played over his face and she did not know what to make of the vulnerability, the sudden youthfulness in him. He took a breath. “Come, I hope this evening is to your liking.”

* * *

Three others arrived to balance the party to a good number, each announced by Mr Canady into the formal, striped drawing room on the ground floor.

The Hon Peregrine Dameron with his wife on his arm, The Hon Mrs Peregrine Dameron. He looked much like a reserved version of his elder brother (although comparably whiskered), and Jessika wore her jet locks upswept and fashionably front-frizzled, with a deep red gown setting off her beige skin and brown eyes to perfection.

With them, her similar younger sister Miss Constance Pava, arrived in spring from their homeland of Dandoran and wearing vivid, pastel green silk.

At eight o’clock Mr Canady declared dinner was served and in defiance of rank Lord Naberrie sought Rey’s hand rather than that of Mrs Dameron, conducting her into the adjoining navy dining room and seating her adjacent in place of honour (to no offence, for Mrs Dameron smiled and whispered something to the Duke that amused him).

Rey persisted in her determination to refer to Lord Naberrie only by title, but the new experience of fresh oysters preoccupied her too much from the outset to be truly churlish with him. He met her short replies with good grace and seemed content enough to observe her enjoyment.

Over her soup choice of _consommé de volaille_ and the varied _hors d’œuvres_ they traded basic conversation, and she sipped champagne and nibbled olives and mushroom croustades feeling very mature. Rey had only recently been allowed wine at all but already preferred champagne, and enjoyed how the candelabra illumination filtered through the golden liquid and twinkled off the ladies’ jewellery, including her own (and especially the brooch’s diamonds).

Despite harbouring a hard, old inner kernel of splenetic humour toward their vexingly handsome and quick-witted host, Rey had only ever experienced lessons on how to eat at a proper dinner party and found herself charmed by the reality. By the great spreads of silverware and goblets, the overflowing flowers from the epergne at centre, and especially the food.

After a lifetime of the Duke’s preference for parred down menus and local fare, the herbed turbot caused a soft moan to escape around her fish fork before she knew she had made it.

Lord Naberrie’s eyes snapped to her as her cheeks flushed. “You like it?”

The Duke swirled his glass of hock and spoke up with a chortle while she tried to swallow. “Sabé trout and the fish ponds still do for us at Varykino. I dare say an ocean catch holds more interest than carp!”

“I like it very much,” she confirmed, and the candlelight that cast soft shadows on the planes of Lord Naberrie’s cheeks settled a little darkness now in his dimples. Her breath caught and she gulped at her drink, which fizzed and tickled on her tongue and up her nose. At the laugh she tried to suppress those dimples deepened.

“Good, I will always—” he broke off and swallowed. “I am glad you like it.”

Their conversation expanded through the footmen presenting the _relevé_ of ribs of beef with new potatoes, and further over the _entrée_ of lamb and sweetbreads in a brandy sauce. The more Rey enjoyed the food and smiled as she spoke with him the more the lord relaxed, and he watched as she delighted in her laden plates, and as her fingers and lips made quick work of tender spears of asparagus. It puzzled her, his interest in watching her eat.

The Duke asked him several questions and he missed one of every two, but his uncle bore the forced repetition with amusement in the sparkle in his eyes. Through the _rôti_ of duck with oranges she and Lord Naberrie shared their favourites of the amusing so-called lies of Herodotus, and Rey concluded his conversation _was_ every bit as good as she had suspected. She found her own difficulty heeding conversation from the other guests.

“I’m so pleased you wear my brooch,” he leaned to whisper near her ear as she lifted her fork to her lips. “Heavens above, your radiance really is unmatched.”

Rey choked on her mouthful of duck and peas in as genteel manner as she could manage, and while he passed her water goblet in contrition he did so seizing the opportunity to caress her little finger with his own. She did not rebuff him, nor this time question the frisson of pleasure that erupted on her bare skin from just this small connection.

“Grazie per il bellissimo regalo, my lord,” she answered when she caught her breath, and it was hard to know whether Lord Naberrie’s gratification was greater at her enjoyment of his offering or her aptitude with Alderani.

“Perhaps now I may supply my own answer to one of my questions,” he said in a soft voice. Rey looked at him quizzically. “I am guessing you _do_ wish to travel in future.”

She wrinkled her nose and drummed a finger against her wineglass. “In truth I hadn’t previously thought much about doing so. But yes, I now believe I should like to.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak then closed it, smiling in a private, thoughtful way and taking bite of endive and vinaigrette instead. Her eyes, though desiring to trace a pattern of his moles, kept flicking back to his lips.

“There is nothing quite like seeing something from a page in person,” he responded at last, “and I think you would love Alderaan’s valley region in particular. I can picture you there.”

This led into a discussion of that region’s breed of horse, and thence to Lord Naberrie’s deep appreciation of the Chandrilan Friesian. As promised in his letter he could indeed talk about the subject at length, but in Rey he found a willing conversationalist. Enough that she even left off her artichoke and mayonnaise.

Rey found the night very pleasant, she admitted to herself, and her corset now squeezed rather tight. She fiddled with her napkin in her lap and decided her feelings were unduly well disposed after the wine, the flattery, and by her dessert choice of creamy charlotte russe with raspberries.

She _had_ kept to two glasses of champagne and a smaller of burgundy (and all short pours with Mr Canady clearly under instructions in her case), but it must have produced a muddling effect. Unbidden and warring thoughts darted about of taking trains to Theed to spend time with Lord Naberrie once they married, and possible domestic logistics. But it was too confusing to dwell on and made her feel odd and light-headed.

After finger bowls and a moulded lemon ice, and fruit and cheese, the company stayed mixed. The Duke and Mr Dameron excused themselves with their cognac to smoke (Rey wondered whether the latter’s dour prosiness, or ducal horticultural pontification, would triumph), and the rest repaired to the music room on the first floor.

Lord Naberrie took pains to inform Rey, while providing an arm to aid her ascent, that he disliked tobacco and maintained the smoking room lest he outrage his uncle, for it would make a far better study (and likewise the billiards room a library extension. Her ears perked up at that).

They drank coffee while Poe sung _Oh Promise Me_ and other favourites in a fine baritone to Mrs Dameron’s grand piano accompaniment, and thereafter chatted and milled about.

After cornering a startled Miss Pava for an impassioned recitation of chemical dangers, Rey slipped away for a moment of peace. Her head needed clearing of its many concerns, and she snuck back downstairs to the promising set of double doors she had noticed opposite the drawing room, and quietly pushed one open.

Lord Naberrie’s library encompassed a large space even without his desired extension, with shelves filled to the ceiling lining the walls and a lamp still low as if awaiting the return of its owner. Somewhere well used and equally loved, and just the sort of place to make her breath catch. Rey found all she had seen of Grimtaash beautiful and never overdone, but the library especially so, and most of this good taste must be laid at its tenant’s door.

She shucked her gloves and ran her fingers along the spines to pick out their textures, breathing in the aged, papery scent as well as leather and parchment, and pushed herself along on the set of rolling steps before leaning against the desk. Curious at what the ruler of this four-walled kingdom had been working on.

Mandalorian and Alderani grammars lay haphazardly amongst sheets of paper, alongside his gold pen and ink. She moved aside a notebook, only to snatch back her hand with a gasp upon seeing the page beneath.

Amidst scholar’s mess of notes and scribbles one section in clear, careful script— her own name in that looped hand, five times penned and once coupled to his surnames.

So taken aback was Rey by this secret gesture that she remained unaware of the door clicking shut behind her until soft, deliberate footsteps stopped at her shoulder.

“Here she is,” Lord Naberrie murmured against her ear with a smile in his voice, in a lower register than at table.

Rey jumped and turned hastily, but his strong arm wrapping full around her back prevented her from toppling sideways in her heeled slippers. “There we go, I have you. I didn’t mean to startle you, this was the first place I thought to look. Have you found anything of interest?”

Rey pinkened, her eyes flicking to his papers, but Lord Naberrie showed none of the irritation she expected at her prying. His look held pleasure, and something else. When she did not pull away that gaze sharpened, and he slid his arm lower to rest about her waist.

“I—I was admiring your books, this is such a fine space and they rival those at Varykino. I know the Duke would never divide his library so this must largely be from your own collecting. There is _much_ of interest in here.”

“Indeed there is—” he quirked a brow, biting back a grin— “and nothing more so than what is right in front of me. Tell me, beautiful Aureylia… when you are not reclining beneath fruit trees, or improving your mind or your… _form_ … do you receive much company at the grand pile?” His fingers drew lazy circles at her waist.

Rey’s cheeks flamed now. “No, your uncle is not one for visitors as you will know. My society is the Sabreur household, Mesdames Tico and Angkuadi, and those working on the estate. Occasionally your mother also.”

“Then what a rarely privileged man am I seeing you this way tonight, and in such a fetching colour.” Lord Naberrie leant down over her before abruptly, in several rough tugs of his teeth, dispensing with a glove.

The kidskin met the parquet with a soft sound and to her annoyance she found herself unable to do anything but blink wide-eyed up him. His breath smelled mildly of the evening’s rich libations, as hers must, but in a pleasant way, and the lamplight ignited flecks of gold in his irises. He ran a large, bare finger across her collar bone and despite herself she trembled, with her pulse in her ears.

“All evening you have been _luminous_ … did you think I wouldn’t notice you slipping out of the party, when your leaving is as the setting of the sun?” Lord Naberrie hummed and spoke again as if to himself: “How could I wish attend any outside event over being with you in my home… unless you were on my arm…”

He pressed his lips together and meandered his hand over the ruched silk upon her shoulder, palm sliding down her bare forearm and raising goosebumps. His gaze dropped to her neckline, which, while appropriate for dining, provided to the vantage of his height a view of the high, soft swells of her breasts.

Yet Rey bit the inside of her cheek and fisted her hands, skin prickling as she remembered the tears of her younger self. The current contrast in him incited her indignation with no full dinner plate to temper it, and she would chance to speak her mind for her girlhood’s sake.

“I find such magniloquence difficult to stomach as one who comes from _nothing_ , and indeed some of my features you flatter today were just the same four years ago. So I will assume that beneath your pretty speeches to you I am still a _nobody_ with _no place_ here, a chit of a girl from some likely _filthy_ background. And believe me, as I have aged I have become further aware that a mere ward’s prospects _are_ very much more limited than yours!” 

Rey could pick— in the blanching of his cheeks so rosy from food and wine, in the turn of his countenance to something stricken and his sagging shoulders— the very moment he knew she had been privy to his raging declarations upon their betrothal.

Pressure welled up in her eyes and he pressed shut his, exhaling loud in the now constrained quiet of the room before pulling her to his chest with disregard for her squeak of surprise.

“Dear _God_ , you _heard_ that,” he spoke against the side of her hair. “To all appearances I must spend my many years hence apologising to you for the most _gross_ affronts— recent and historical!— and repenting my foolishness. Such displays of hauteur and dashedly reckless words!”

Lord Naberrie pulled back just enough to fix her with a demanding stare, squeezing her in his arms. “You are not so to me. _Never to me_ Aureylia, I swear it. That I have hurt you thus, indeed that _ever_ I spoke in such a callous way about someone so clever and kind and witty— whose birth circumstances I cannot care about, except to be _heartily_ glad my uncle decided to raise you— it is insupportable! I will never forgive it.”

“It was _cruel_ ,” Rey sniffed, ducking her head against the tightness in her throat.

“It was, monstrously so, and I am truly, _deeply_ sorry.” He raised her face to wipe at her damp cheek with a gentle thumb before his mouth further contorted in shame.

“And you remind me of what I hadn’t considered enough. You, a girl, had even less say in the betrothal than I, and lacked the heir’s future surety regardless of any present constraints upon me.” Vindication surged in Rey’s breast and another tear spilled. “Any noble in the kingdom— in _any_ realm— should bless themselves to have you as a wife, and although I don’t deserve the honour I mean to show you it is one. Not just through words but also in deeds.”

While Rey’s mind whirled Lord Naberrie looked down at her for a long moment, searching her face and working his jaw in troubled thought. “I feel I must say more. Not to excuse myself for I cannot, but that you may understand my mind at that time. I have been thinking upon this matter a great deal recently.” She nodded.

“At our betrothal you were a child, to my mind even if some of my ancestors wed so young. I couldn’t imagine considering you in future as I see you now, or indeed that we would ever find common ground in conversation or otherwise. The Fates must laugh at me because here you are, grown into a young woman most _assuredly_ my equal if not my better.

“I chafed that as a man well past maturity my future could be so directed by others. I was forbidden to even speak of it thanks to that worm in my uncle’s brain about your hermetic existence, although I confess I unburdened myself to Dameron. I felt very hard done by, and my anger robbed me of foresight that girlhood isn’t perpetual. My unworthy objections to your background, my continued rudeness to you, they were the _most_ unfair redirection of my ire.”

Faced with what sounded like genuine contrition and held against the heat of his body— after years of stewing and imagined, drawn out arguments defending herself and her low birth— Rey realised that much of her puff had left her. She had never anticipated this reaction, nor did she think the Lord Naberrie of several weeks ago may have given it.

Furthermore, she could understand both the off-putting difference in their ages and life experience at that time, and his anger at further familial requirements layered upon those of the duchy, which she had not considered from his perspective before.

Still, none of that had been her fault, and Rey squared her shoulders as she regarded his open, earnest countenance. “You have given me some information I hadn’t thought upon and I appreciate you explaining your position. I remain cross with you and I imagine it will take time to mend, but I accept your apology and thank you for it. Let us at least have a cease-fire, Lor— _Benjamin_ , as we grow to know one another.”

He seemed quite overcome, and she met his tentative smile down at her with a small one of her own. His glossy eyes held hope.

“You are much, _much_ too good my sweet and I humble myself before you. That you wrote back to me _at all_ , I—” His jaw tensed and he exhaled through his nose. “Well I must say I enjoy my name on your lips. It is certainly better than Benvolio,” he hazarded with more of a curve at his mouth, “and there will be no further volleys from across my borders, I cannot think of it. You’ll be the recipient of quite the opposite.”

Benjamin tightened his arms and Rey’s breath shook as she answered. “Then I— I will endeavour to be likewise peaceable. _And_ to think upon you more kindly as well.” It would not be as difficult as she once suspected, in many respects.

“I shall enjoy that…” He wet his lips, pupils expanding and a glimmer in his eyes too as they flicked down to her mouth. “I find I think _very_ kindly of you very often, of late. Your pictures inspired many… _kind_ thoughts. Your self in person even more so.”

Rey’s stomach gave that peculiar swoop again and her heart raced, a tune against her breastbone as unfamiliar as the swiftness with which something recognisable kindled in her lower abdomen.

“ _Aureylia_ …” Benjamin implored in a rough voice, throat bobbing as he swallowed, and she opened her mouth to query him but he dipped his head, slanting his lips over her own.

Her first ever kiss was a soft thing, as if he wished to tell her something through the gentleness of it. A prayer without words, and consideration for her inexperience rather than demand. His lips brushed against hers, plush and warm, and in Rey’s still open-eyed surprise she widened her mouth with a gasp, allowing him to deepen it.

Then he pulled away, only to lean back down and kiss her again, repeating this several times until her eyelids fluttered closed and she found herself chasing his mouth without intending it. A soft noise of irritation rose in her throat and the tickle between her legs coiled and pulled at the teasing.

Benjamin made a satisfied hum and only then did he cup her jaw and meet her more fervently, running his tongue across her bottom lip to make her shiver, before dipping it into her mouth to caress her own.

Hot, wet, at once strange and yet so delicious. The sensation weakened Rey’s knees and she gripped his lapels as he pressed her against the desk— tasting him, wanting, breathing in his scent, feeling in heights she had _never_ before experienced that affected her far greater than any champagne.

The damp heat grew in her combinations until she throbbed as she mimicked his actions. Hesitant at first, but learning in a manner he appreciated judging by the pleasured rumble in his chest and the prominence growing at the front of his trousers, abutting against her stomach. The nature of this Rey could guess, insistent despite layers and corset boning as he cupped and fondled her posterior to better press her body against his own.

After what must have been many minutes in which she lost all sense, Benjamin pulled back with hooded eyes before nuzzling against her jaw. He pressed kisses in a path to her temple and took long inhales with a noise almost a growl, stroking a thumb up and down the trembling column of her throat. Rey paid inner acknowledgement to Kaydel’s prescience with the honeysuckle.

“My sweet nemesia, I marvel at how _entirely_ your first reply changed my mind. Such is your power. I don’t know if in your seclusion you understood the intimate implication within my opening letter, but I disavow that precipitous sentiment.” She frowned, and caught the side of his reddened lips curling up in a rather cocksure smile. “Separate lives under one roof won’t do for me at all, for several reasons now. To be direct, my wish is for our _full_ marital benefits, and as frequently as possible.”

Rey blinked, then bridled, jerking back in his arms in understanding now of what he had penned, and aware of consorting with him in a manner _very_ much more intimate than she had ever intended for the weekend. To think ageing, bachelor Luke would have grasped his nephew’s innuendo about _rejecting_ consummation and she had not, instead blithely writing her response as if she had no knowledge of the world!

Fresh humiliation bloomed with this further proof of a very real difference in their maturity, and all recollections of his reputation returned in an unwelcome rush

“Benjamin!” Rey hissed, jabbing a finger at his chest, her own heaving. “ _Lord Naberrie_. I’m not entirely ignorant of biological matters with unhindered access to a library and being raised amidst animal husbandry, _and_ I have two friends of science as you well know! So to be _direct_ with _you_ I have been warned not to let you and your frequent dalliances endanger my health.” His expression took on aspects of a freshly landed trout gulping for air. “Regardless of _my_ respect for the duchy’s future I’ll not become your port at home while you sail to and fro’ between other localities _my lord_!”

After a moment spent digesting her words in astonishment, Benjamin’s demeanour changed. If anything to a man impressed, to her surprise, and although he carded his bare hand through his hair, revealing a reddened earlobe, he also tightened his grip upon her backside. Rey willed herself not to become distracted by the sweetness of the nervous gesture or the heat of the other.

He made an abashed sound that was not quite a laugh. “Bold little thing and _very_ well informed. Bright Hemera knows her due, and her proper course. Let me—”

A knock sounded at the door, over-loud and deliberate in the manner of someone knowing full well what they may find behind it.

“Yes, what is it?” snapped Benjamin, turning toward the interruption with a scowl while pressing her close. The door opened the merest of cracks.

“My lord,” began a wary, Rylothian accented tenor, “His Grace has enquired after the whereabouts of Mademoiselle Nemesia and was discontented when Lord Dameron found it a great source of divertissement. I took the liberty of informing him she had departed to her room for a problème de coiffure, and that you discussed a matter for tomorrow with staff…” his manservant trailed off meaningfully.

“Thank you Mitaka, ever my earthly salvation,” Benjamin groused with an air of resignation. “I’ll return her in just a moment.”

But Rey wriggled under his arm in burning embarrassment. He made a grab for her and taffeta slipped through kidskin as she hopped over his other glove and flew to the door, feelings and skirts both awhirl.

She smoothed her bodice and fluffed her sleeves as best she could while rushing to the stairs, past the valet carefully examining the wallpaper and as a muffled curse and a frustrated hand atop a desk sounded behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Ben once said some (canon) degrading things about Rey. / Drinking alcohol. / A mention of earlier aristocratic very young marriages.
> 
> ***
> 
> Why might Finn choose The Savoy? ([early 20th C photo](https://pin.it/1VEU0Oz)) It opened in 1889 as the first truly luxury London hotel, & had American-style en suite bathrooms rather than British shared ones (although Oscar Wilde reportedly said of its hot & cold running water: "What is it good for? If I want hot water, I call for it" 🙄).
> 
> Wealthy late Victorians and Edwardians loved a [very full bathroom suite](https://pin.it/3BLrf60) (vs an earlier [water closet](https://pin.it/2yfVekF)). Sitz baths often had douching attachments for (attempted) contraception & were useful post-(frequent)childbirth. The zealotry of some for ‘cold water cures’ was mockingly called the _gospel of the tub_.
> 
> Rey’s [dinner dress inspiration](https://pin.it/KfBv7Xx) (which is more an evening gown, but shh).
> 
> A parure is a full suite of jewellery (like this [French coral](https://pin.it/uGkF86S) 1809 example), often modular with the ability to clip pieces onto tiara or comb frames. A demi-parure (like these [1820s amethysts](https://pin.it/5VIPAyX)) could be as few as two or three items.
> 
> _Eat vinegar with a fork_ – extreme acid sharpness in conversation.
> 
> An [epergne](https://pin.it/4bLqFnl). Elaborate dinners served _à la russe_ (courses brought out sequentially by footmen/waiters & served by them at table) reached their fashionable height at the end of the 19th C & could be 6–14 courses (all with different wines). Yet by the 1920s this extravagance was vulgar. All hail [Mrs Crocombe's turbot kettle](https://youtu.be/zmIkhF0i_C4).
> 
> _Grazie per il bellissimo regalo_ – thank you for the beautiful gift.
> 
> [Oh Promise Me](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oh_Promise_Me): an American parlour song, very popular from 1890 (the link has a 1900 recording). Lyrics include _Oh, promise me that you will take my hand / The most unworthy in this lonely land_ so I couldn’t resist 😊
> 
> Hemera is the ancient Greek primordial goddess of the daytime, who takes her path over the earth while her mother Nyx (night) remains inside their house, & vice versa.
> 
> _Divertissement_ – entertainment. _Problème de coiffure_ – hairstyle issue.
> 
> 💜 for kudos & comments.


	5. A Capital Day Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rey discovers chaperoned shopping holds more problems than pleasures, including from a bothersome stranger; Benjamin answers a concern and builds further bridges._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, a recent med is giving me way more quality of life (things have been rough. Good news in my 2020??) & my country’s election swung left (my new MP is from my fav very diverse & progressive minor party!). So greetings from Aotearoa New Zealand, may you also have positive medical & electoral stuff if that’s relevant to you.

Benjamin’s eyes followed Rey for the rest of the evening but no further opportunities presented for clandestine conversation. At the guests’ departure after midnight he retired with the air of a man rather thwarted, despite his dinner’s success.

Yet _she_ sought the privacy of her bedchamber in relief, gladdened for once by the promise of constant company outside of it for the remainder of the weekend. The night provided a great deal else to digest besides the banquet, and she needed time to take stock.

With looming adulthood came many more different perspectives and considerations than she had realised; a bitter pill to swallow.

Benjamin’s apology had seemed honest, yes, but as for his spoken intentions about their future, a lack of surety frightened her.

Rey would never again allow herself to be made to feel a nobody by him, neither in speech nor by any other behaviour he intended continue in the background. A marriage of complete geographic separation held a great deal more appeal.

She tossed and turned, turbulent at length before sleep took her, and awoke to a bright morning after a nightmare with her heart drumming. Snatches of fear remained, never memories, but enough that she began her day discountenanced still and yet to decide what, between the issue of Benjamin’s dalliances and her warmer (and for part of last night, distinctly giddy) feelings, she meant to do.

To her relief he proved as ill-disposed to breakfast volubility as his uncle, and Rey thus drank her coffee quietly in the sunny morning room before the view of the Grimtaash garden.

A lord’s courtyard oasis of flowers and vegetables, abutting the wall of the stable mews she could perhaps later visit, where beside a stone bench and a small fountain familiar pink roses bloomed. She rubbed at the cuff of her morning gown in the same soft palette and snatched glances at his face made boyish by drooping eyelids, picturing him reading there.

As Rey considered whether sausages would give her indigestion in addition to kedgeree Poe appeared at the sideboard, too chipper by half.

“Solo keeps a good kitchen. My Aunt Beyborough, who I should by rights be staying with— mother’s side is all Theedian— is always on some dry wine biscuits endeavour or other for breakfast, and she gets put out if anyone else tucks in. A man cannot survive on that!”

Rey grimaced and took the sausages. “Neither a woman, I assure you.”

Poe angled his head closer with a softer voice, and his grin fell. “I also wanted to put up here because I thought he needed it. With irregular travel to Naboo I missed a lot, he’s been too long around those only interested in his position.

“But he’s a good soul under the bluster and from his sentiments _now_ … well he’s eager to do his duty by you, or strike me pink! Let Solo show you he can pull himself up to snuff, and please become a friend to him if the man’s not so much a wooden spoon he prevents it.”

Rey’s cheeks coloured to pinkness instead and Poe turned apprehensive watching her. Though she liked him, and well understood loyalty, his words were more than a little impertinent and far from solid evidence to counter her concerns.

“I beg your forgiveness if I’ve overstepped. I have three brothers and no sisters, my manner is poorer for it.”

“Well,” Rey retorted, “I will also speak baldly then: I hope you do not mean to break Finn’s heart in a few months’ time!”

Poe looked back at her friend with such soft devotion as to render his reassuring “no, never” unnecessary.

With her sisterly duty done and a full stomach Rey found herself more peaceable, and soon removed to a corner sofa with Finn.

“Poe and I are off to the universities club,” he whispered, “but if you will be near Pall Mall, perhaps afterward…?”

“I have no idea,” Rey replied in apology. “Connix strenuously recommended shopping for some last things before my coming out, and I _would_ like to visit the Nabooian Museum. I haven’t really seen anything of Theed, so I should.”

“No no, I agree, see the sights. Well, we shall likely find ourselves in some afternoon cricket, and catch you back here.”

Rey shifted her smile to an artificial glower. “Now, I have a bone to pick with you. You are an arrant traitor for what is above your lip!” Finn’s alarm became an eye roll as she upbraided him about his abandonment of their youthfully agreed opinions, and they stifled their giggles lest they further strain the Duke’s tenuous grip on city morning equanimity.

By and by Luke sighed and muttered to himself. “We will go to Brooks’s,” he announced to his nephew. “Cannot put it off, city blighters will be terribly offended if I avoid them all trip.”

“And my company is required?” Benjamin asked with frown, roused now after two pots of tea, devilled kidneys, and a mound of buttered toast.

“Of course it is, good God, otherwise I will be waylaid all day by Cholmondeley and Derby! Frightful braggarts. We shan’t be too long, just some tobacco and luncheon. Aureylia can amuse herself here, can’t you my girl?”

Beside her Finn sucked in a breath before judging it time for him and Poe to hail a hansom, and she found herself defending the necessity of shopping with uncharacteristic vigour, over remaining docile indoors.

“ _What_?” spluttered the Duke. “No, terrible idea, too dangerous!” He looked obstinate but she set her jaw.

“No need to get red in the gills uncle,” enjoined Benjamin in a more hopeful tone, “I shall be glad to attend the ladies as Oxford Circus protector, swordstick in hand. I should perhaps prefer a cane gun, but we will not visit Jay’s for crape under my watch.”

His jocularity did not at all placate. “This is _no joke_ you bally rascal! And I cannot spare you. No I’ll not have it.”

The Duke remained hostile on the subject with his hermit’s values and genuine but unforthcoming wariness of city-borne peril, yet by and by the younger pair together talked him around. A victory only, to Benjamin’s visible dissatisfaction, regarding the ladies’ plans: two burly footmen would accompany, and in the drag, with a near-residing Dowager Baroness long known to Benjamin’s parents as chaperone.

Luke looked decidedly emetic at the prospect of his nephew’s nimble spider phaeton, and required verbal guarantee of no road antics better suited to Benjamin’s driving club. Rey tried not to laugh as he cast her a speaking look about his uncle’s confounding vehicular proclivities.

* * *

Outside it became apparent to Rey that summer pressed closer here than in Naberrie, muggy and less tolerable away from water and a vastness of green.

Kaydel’s forceful suggestion of a frilled white organdie dress was salvation (belted with a lemon ribbon to match her gloves), but Rey remained unconvinced by the wide-brimmed, flowered and feathered froth of a hat, relented to at the mutinous set of Kaydel’s shoulders.

Yet seeing the clusters of fine ladies promenading in the park across the roadway, Rey realised she too looked the part for a city stroll. She held herself a little taller and twirled the parasol she had inwardly cursed as needless in the hall.

“My uncle has not been a miser?” Benjamin fretted as he handed her into the drag.

Rey smiled for his assistance in breakfast-time combat, and at the way he lingered and twisted his full mouth. “Oh no, my purse has generous coin for myself and Connix, given with many warnings and advice of course.” She listed on her fingers: “No straying, no speaking with strangers, send a messenger to the club or Grimtaash at any need…”

“Ah, prepared in full, so I cannot yet furnish you with my own notes of credit. Pity. May I distract you and tuck some into your hat?” Wistful humour dimpled his cheeks. 

“You may not! But it would hold an awful lot, and victuals for the outing besides. Or a lapdog.”

Benjamin laughed, leaning in with bright eyes. “You look _exceptionally_ lovely.” His fingers twitched toward her before withdrawing, and to her alarm he seemed as if reminding himself that they were in public _and_ not yet married so he could not kiss her for her impudence.

“I—” he swallowed— “I wish you good hunting.” He dragged his gaze away to close the door and signal the coachman, as beside her Kaydel hid a grin.

Almost immediately upon arriving at the crush of the West End did Rey regret her notion of entertainment from spending day thus at least once before being married, in this place like nothing she could have imagined from Varykino.

She fanned herself and could not focus even on local commentary from the loud but tiny Dowager Lady Kanata, beginning to feel ostentatious as the large, liveried carriage turned heads amidst smaller private conveyances.

The air smelled far from sweet and caught in her throat as they alighted too, an olfactory cacophony to her unaccustomed nose. Notwithstanding their guide’s easy confidence Rey was as a foal turned out for the first time into the stable-yard, and just as overwhelmed.

Lady Kanata strolled happily in the hubbub, a willing shopper and full of pepper (if declined in hearing) despite her ochre brown face being so very deeply lined Rey uncharitably thought of a walnut. Near half-obscured by thick spectacles as well and an old-fashioned black bonnet.

According to her accounts of her eventful life she must have been in widow’s weeds for far longer than customary, and if she felt the heat she did not show it.

Liberty & Co distracted as a first call but did not shake Rey’s perturbation, despite it being the one shop she had long desired to visit. She admired their carved furniture and rich fabrics, purchasing two comfortable gowns to Kaydel’s dark mutterings about Rey next taking to “only wearin’ a wimple and tunic or such like even on your lovely figure” due to her opinions of aesthetic dress.

(She could be forgiven: Rey’s wardrobe for her entrance into womanhood would never be as full as required by those young ladies thrust upon the marriage market, to Kaydel’s disappointment.)

The Dowager Baroness continued to regale them with stories of her youth in her birthplace of Takodana as they traipsed along fashionable Oxford and Bond Streets. From haberdasher to draper to a milliner, to Messrs Peter Yapp to be measured for shoes, and thereafter a far more interesting confectioner (to Rey’s mind) for reviving ices.

Kaydel had strategised some three months prior and sent Rey’s measurements to Redfern for suiting, and to The House of Paquin and the salon of Jacques Doucet in Lessu, the capital of Ryloth, for more ornate items. Rey blessed her again to now avoid further fittings.

As the day wore on Rey felt she would never master the steps to this metropolitan quadrille with so many others upon the busy pavements, and Kaydel clutched at her arm, likewise tired.

Marshall & Snelgrove at least provided the extensive frilly undergarments Kaydel insisted Rey _very_ much needed (and a perfumery department to distract the Dowager), and Rey’s delight upon seeing Rose and Jannah’s mechano-pigeons and automaton upgrades displayed in pride of place could only have improved if she had a camera with which to show them.

Finally, as they exited Penberthy’s gloves and stockings replete with both, the Dowager Baroness cast them an owlish look. “Girls you appear peaky, I believe tea time calls. Brown’s Hotel of course, I _know_ my tea rooms and they have yet to horribly modernise their menu so it _is_ the best.”

The stomachs, thirst, and sore feet of both young women heartily assented.

* * *

Refreshment arrived in an opulent space filled with potted palms, and frequently attended (Lady Kanata informed them at volume) by the notables of Theed society and well-heeled travellers from outside of Naboo alike.

Rey sipped fizzy elderflower cordial and gazed in wonder at the finery displayed at the tables, at the plethora of suits and dresses and hats so different to anything in the countryside.

Her ear caught snippets of Alderani floating across the sounds of the room from women behind, and to her excitement two groups to her left were gentlemen she thought she recognised as writers.

Rey’s wandering eyes settled upon a lone man to their right. His entirely black garb made her neck bead with sympathetic sweat but was not his chief oddity (and perhaps he observed an unusually full mourning for a man, and she should think kindly). Rather, the combination of his ashen pallor, shock of orange ( _not_ auburn) hair, and pinched expression captured her attention.

He took only coffee and occasionally looked to his pocket watch, and as little as Rey knew of the city such a busy and public spot seemed an odd place for some kind of business meeting, for beside him rested a leather document case.

By and by he looked up as if sensing her observation (unfortunately while her mouth was full of fried whiting to compound her embarrassment), fixing Rey with a bellicose gaze that turned into a wrinkled brow as if trying to place some aspect of her person, and after a moment to a piercing, wide-eyed stare.

But the arrival of his nondescript companion saved her, and, worried her gawking had conveyed the wrong idea, she angled her chair to give the men her back.

As best she could Rey kept her attention on conversation with Kaydel and Lady Kanata about all they had seen, and she had just pushed away the uneasy feeling of herself being watched when a throat cleared beside them.

The ginger haired man smiled tight and oily down at her, really in more of an upturned sneer (the attempt, moreover, seemed to give him difficulty and was not a handsome sight).

“My dear, what beautiful green eyes you have,” he began without preamble in a clipped, nasal tone. “They must be a family trait, no? But I have not seen such a colour so commonly here in Naboo. Is your hair natural or by means of a henna dye?”

Rey gaped, bridling at his lack of introduction, improper address, _and_ forwardness that overwhelmed all other offence. Whether he meant to insult her looks or if she should inform him she was already betrothed to rebuff him, she knew not, and for the first time Rey considered the usefulness of engagement rings and wedding bands.

But a hand touched her arm, that of the Dowager Baroness, who drew back her small shoulders and delicately dabbed her napkin at her lips.

“Aureylia, ignore him,” she ordered, levelling her hardened, bespectacled gaze upon the stranger. “Young man I do _not_ know who you are and nor do I further _wish_ to, but I will tell you that it is a _very_ foolish idea indeed to engage in such boorish behaviour toward a young lady. _Especially_ to press upon one whose guardian is the duke of this very city! You may find yourself cut out!”

The man’s eyes flashed, yet not, Rey thought, in anger. Rather more in a burst of intense excitement before his expression closed off with such swiftness she could have imagined it.

She wished for a hole to open beneath her seat and swallow her, for although well intentioned Lady Kanata could evidently not hold her tongue, and the confrontation now drew some interested stares and murmurs from nearby tables.

“Ah, _Skywalker_ of the Naberrie seat, _such_ a guardian. How remarkably fitting if—” he cut himself off, and Rey fancied she had for a second heard an unfamiliar accent in his voice.

Two neighbouring gentlemen said something to each other and glared at the interloper, and his face pinched again as they made to stand to mount a rescue. “Many apologies ladies,” he rushed out more smoothly, “I forget myself. I bid you good day.”

He pressed one hand to his chest in an awkward fashion while he thrust his other into his trouser pocket, offering a stiff little nod with his fingers resting near a strange glass button on his waistcoat that did not quite match the rest.

Rey’s neck prickled and she wrinkled her brow in confusion at this display, but after a moment he gave a conventional bow before darting back to his table, where his associate seemed to have departed and, oddly, she could no longer see his case.

Rey tried to brush the matter off, still too enervated (and too desirous of her waiting slice of triple layer strawberry and cream sponge) to bother herself further with any metropolitan rudeness. It did not increase Theed in her estimation.

“Sour-faced fellow should hardly be talkin’ of hair using _that_ much pomade,” muttered Kaydel, setting upon her eclairs with a scowl. “Actin’ like he’s never seen a bonny young lady before. Now Miss Aureylia, you put him out of your mind. We’ll forget him.”

However Lady Kanata worked herself into a diatribe about manners nowadays and the nerve and manifold disappointments of men in general, thence to properly instructing her son as a boy. She diverted upon the baffling timidity of his wife at the Dowager’s dinners, until her seed cake distracted her and she renewed focus on what remained of her alarming itinerary.

* * *

Only constant baronessial observations kept Rey’s eyelids from closing as the drag continued its tour. Rowdy Piccadilly Circus… Trafalgar Square’s immense column commemorating a great Exegol battle… Big Ben.

Although the latter prompted a drowsy giggle all were a blur, even the wonderful bicycles weaving about in St James’s Park, and Rey tried not to let her feelings show upon realising no hours remained to see the museum (or energy, for she had entirely misjudged the mammoth effort undertaken in a day of shopping).

“Really it would be a _great_ pity to neglect Harrod’s Stores when you are not city dwellers,” the Dowager pronounced. “We must double back before closing.”

The two alarmed young ladies managed to beg off, and by the time they saw Lady Kanata home and her footman laden with boxes (upon a promise to dine, and repeat the outing, when next in Theed) Rey and Kaydel were possessed of thumping headaches and completely expended.

The tiny force majeure in black crape had outdone them both, and hoped to have time for her usual brisk perambulation around the park before her evening meal.

In Grimtaash House Rey trudged upstairs in a state of discouragement, with Kaydel sent to rest. She flung aside her hat and took a powder for her head, and in a bath behind a closed door allowed those disappointed tears to escape as she pressed her hands to her eyes.

If her first personal travel excursion so overset her, surely she could never cope with journeys _further_ afield. It was a blessed relief to curl alone upon the bed.

A soft knock roused Rey and she blinked in the sun filtering dimmer now through the window lace.

“Miss Aureylia, it’s gone eight,” trilled a recovered Kaydel as she entered with a laden tray and Bébé hot upon her heels, who leapt atop the bed to settle against Rey’s feet. “His Lordship wouldn’t have you disturbed before dinner, and begs you remain comfortable. He sent this as well.”

Rey could not but smile through a yawn at Bébé’s shiny stub tail rhythmically wagging, and at the well-thumbed copy of Herodotus Kaydel passed her. She unfolded the note upon the tray with a mouth full of sliced melon, as Kaydel tutted at her ill-treated hat.

❈

I beg most enchanting Hemera not to doubt her pluck after today’s expedition, which I gather from her solitude proved a trial. I wish I could have assisted.

Theed’s drawing room fanaticism continues despite the heat, and the most dedicated soirée and reception set won’t quit their town homes until late summer. With gaggles of far flung tourists at present too, even those accustomed may become overwhelmed in the crowds. (The Dowager, furthermore, is kind, but _sola dosis facit venenum_.)

However, _nil desperandum_ dear Hemera, there are many fine parts of Theed and other cities to suit your interests, and in different seasons. I would love to show you the sun through Westminster Abbey’s stained glass upon a quiet autumn morning, and thence walk beside the Solleu.

While riding this evening I did think (and hope) Hyde Park would please you as well. I wish to learn what places shall best do so, and promise to take you to all of Theed more likely to capture your heart and mind.

An ardent admirer.

❈

Rey rubbed a finger across Benjamin’s sweet and considerate addresses with a lighter heart and expression reflecting it, only realising she did so after Kaydel quirked a knowing eyebrow.

Yet although she yearned to see the grand museum and wished she _had_ ridden instead (and perhaps, with luck, he was correct about picking better destinations), he had best comprehend that nothing about the day had increased her desire to reside in Theed.

Bébé hung out his leather tongue and watched Rey spoon up her _soup à la jardinière_.

“Poor wee thing,” laughed Kaydel, “he doesn’t know he cannot enjoy it too. Now what else am I to tell you… Sir Finnbheara and Lord Dameron returned, but with you indisposed they fancied a chop-house supper— and _ale_ I think— so they’re out to The Runnin’ Footman nearby. His Grace is feelin’ the barometrics in his arm so he’s been restin’ too, but he and His Lordship have arranged that stay with Lady Leia at Falconswood Park, six days hence. Won’t that be nice?”

Immediate consternation bloomed. Though yet to come of age it piqued Rey to not be consulted at all, especially regarding changes to her usual Varykino birthday plans (not exciting plans, but it was the principle).

Kaydel bestowed a tolerant look, so she turned her sulk upon slices of roast beef with horseradish and violently speared a string bean. “His Lordship already invited Sir Finnbheara and Lord Dameron with the family party and they agreed, so no more mardy looks now. Brown bread iced cream will sweeten you up, but I should have fetched you a bigger portion.” Kaydel’s eyes danced.

“Oh a week of Finn’s company and likely more, in the countryside! You should have led with that!” Even despite Benjamin’s friendship with Poe, it seemed likely he had also been thinking of her happiness.

“Mr Mitaka says His Lordship is ever so excited to be present for your birthday,” Kaydel continued with a smile playing at her lips. “I think he’d like to give the occasion of your comin’ out the hurry up.”

All this being so Kaydel did not leave with a written response for Benjamin. Rey cautioned herself to retain her backbone and furthermore recalled Luke’s advice about galvanising young men.

* * *

Sunday morning saw the ducal party preparing to depart, and despite some affection now for Grimtaash House Rey was eager to leave the city behind. She would soon see Kira, and Finn further lifted her spirits by confiding that Poe had asked him to establish a townhouse together in the near future.

Her friend was in love, very much requited, and she wondered what that felt like and how one ever knew.

Surprisingly the Duke with newspaper at table was loudest at the early hour. He exclaimed in such wrath and dropped his magnification glass upon his bread plate that Bébé attempted to leap upon the sideboard, and in missing this perch bounced off a large aspidistra, upending it. A scarlet Poe righted the jardinière stand and salvaged the plant while R2 sped about suctioning soil.

“Are you well uncle?” enquired Benjamin once he finished, Rey thought, disguising a laugh in his napkin.

“Ruddy Grand Duke of Korriban is putting his son on the royal marriage mart. Cursed, jumped-up principality, little better than Exegol!”

“I didn’t know he had a son.”

“Papers could have it muddled,” supplied Finn in a mollifying tone. “The usual foreign royal hearsay, all nonsensational.”

“Hmph. Could be. Rotten fellow’s my age, without issue I always thought.” Luke took an aggressive swig of his coffee and decapitated a boiled egg, allowing Rey to snatch the _Theed Observer_.

Its inflaming print suggested the princesses of Athiss and Bosthirda as top choices for the unnamed prince, with Kalsunor a possibility. These three localities rarely featured in Nabooian publications and she knew little else besides their names. Of Korriban, only that it had claimed significant territory through former wars but had never dared direct hostility toward Naboo.

Rey never wished to upset Luke in matters tainted by the conflicts he had known, so swallowed her questions, and doubtless of similar minds Benjamin and Finn redirected the conversation.

A strange, new sort of ache twisted in Rey’s chest when Benjamin joined the party in his carriage to Paddington, occurring regardless of her desire for a safer distance between them again, for contemplation.

“Just five days,” he murmured, doleful near her temple, while Luke and Kaydel on the opposite bench seat gave decent impressions of paying little attention.

“Oh?” She knew his meaning but wished to tease out more speech. As if his words could help untangle the bittersweet sensation inside her.

“Until I see you again. I will write tomorrow. There are matters to clarify that require a moment more of my time, so I may do so in utter certainty as you deserve.” At the worried scrunch of her nose he added: “Good things my flower, I promise. I’ll only repay you in felicity from now on.”

This perhaps boded well with the earnest look in his eyes, and his endearment fizzed like champagne, but Rey maintained an insouciance and merely hummed.

Benjamin held her hand and stroked his thumb over her knuckles for the rest of the journey, setting her skin tingling even beneath her glove. As the porters ferried their luggage on the platform the whistle of the train grew nearer, and when the iron behemoth pulled into the station in a burst of steam and smoke he leant over her, giving the appearance of fixing her travelling veil.

“God above I wish to kiss you soundly again, in a manner unsuitable for other eyes.”

A little burst of pleasure tugged beneath Rey’s navel and she stared up at him, reddening as she opened and closed her mouth.

“Go then, with your rosebud lips,” he chuckled before heaving out a sigh, “that I might not be tempted to shame us both.”

The mid-morning Great Western Line – _Theed to Shaakhill_ pulled out of the station and Rey lifted her hand at the window-glass to Benjamin’s upraised arm. He leant on his swordstick with a downcast expression and had no right, she thought, to look as large and well-formed as he did while stooping. His top hat was very fine on him.

“Sometimes a young man needs a sharp kick up the trousers, the carrot and then the stick, what?” The Duke proclaimed, well pleased with himself and drumming a tune upon the silver head of his cane.

* * *

Benjamin’s mechano-pigeon arrived the following morning. For the buoying presence of another soul as she learned his letter’s substance, she took herself to the oak smoking room where Luke sat in his burgundy velvet jacket with his pipe, enjoying post-breakfast tobacco and the view out the window.

He gave her a warm grunt of acknowledgement upon a puff of smoke, and she settled herself nearby to crack the seal with trembling fingers.

❈

Dearest Aureylia,

As I write this, it has been less than one full day since I last saw you, yet it feels longer and my sleep was much disturbed. If I may be bold in my words, which I now believe is our mutual temperament, the distance between us is intolerable with the memories of your sparkling conversation, your most scrumptious curves in my arms clad in your finery, and the sweet scent of you seeming to be still around me.

By all propriety I _should_ apologise once more (although as a fox whose fur has had a thorough laundry day, I hope I will not give cause to make it a habit within our marriage). That is to say, for being so forward with you in my library. However I do not regret it in the slightest and curse both Mitaka’s appropriate interruption and our lack of privacy for the remainder of your stay.

My heated reminiscences aside, what I must tell you is an answer to your contention on Friday evening: I have pursued no one else, nor have I wished to, since receiving your first letter. To do otherwise, to feel otherwise, seems impossible to me now. Furthermore from the station I took to my physician, and am informed of my complete good health in intimate and other areas.

Upon my remaining and hopefully salvageable honour as a gentleman you have nothing to fear from me in future in this regard. I thank you for that reminder, for it is my intention to ever esteem you and uphold your welfare in all ways.

To continue the metaphor you used, I have given up my life as a sailor with no desire to return to it. The wind blows me only to your shore and I have quite abruptly developed shocking sea-sickness. I can but hope you will grant me safe harbour.

Sir Finnbheara spoke with me last night, giving expression to feelings long in the making and merited from what shabby behaviour he knew of me. (He was not coarse I assure you, although if he had been it should lower _me_ to expect a gentleman to hold his tongue concerning one he regards as a sister.)

I relayed my honest and reformed intentions toward your good person, and I believe we reached a similar understanding to what I hope I have made clear to you. We parted if not yet as friends, then with reason to hope on my part that we may in future be so.

To be plain this is a very lucky thing for me; not only is he a good man, but I am without any wish to recommend myself to the twin ire of both you and Dameron (who has expressed his wish that I “attempt not to be a —— fool”, I believe he put it, and appreciate how lucky I am regarding your lovely self).

My mother conveyed similar sentiments via letter twice last week, and to make clear her long regard for you, I must relate that I have never before heard her so furious at me as after I spoke inexcusably those years ago. How readily you inspire such deserved devotion in others.

_In manus tuas commendo spiritum meum_ and with warmest affection,

Benjamin.

❈

Rey covered her mouth as her churning stomach threatened either violent illness or to make her burst into undignified titters, perhaps one then the other. If his words were truthful, if she was indeed— a frisson of pleasure shot up her spine— to be Benjamin’s sole focus… much could change, much _would_ change.

(For Rey, now honest with herself, was loath to quit kissing or avoid other carnalities, or out of scruples foreswear his conversation.) Satisfaction bloomed that he had recognised her serious concerns, as did great affection for resolute Finn.

“Aureylia my girl.” Luke’s concerned voice broke through her reverie after a second reading and she gave a start. “May I again be a busybody in your correspondence, assuming it _is_ from whom I suppose?”

Rey coloured near to match his jacket, stammering as she tried to think of a response other than rude denial. He saved her the trouble.

“ _Ah_ … no no, quite right. There are some matters a courting young lady does not want a nosy greybeard intruding upon. Just tell me this: are you both in better accord?”

“Y-Yes sir, I believe we are becoming so.”

“Good, very good indeed. That is a lovely bloom—” he gestured with his pipe to her lap, and grinned— “and I do not speak of the one upon your cheeks, although it is also so. The Grimtaash garden looked well, didn’t it? _Rosa centifolia bullata_. Some call this specific variety a _lettuce_ rose, which must of course be _far_ preferable to being the namesake of the bally cabbage!”

Rey tried to school her face to betray no inappropriate horticultural amusement and he settled back against his chair with a contented puff. His eyelids drooped while R2 trundled about nearby, ready to spring into action with specialised grabbing attachment for fire prevention should the pipe fall from the ducal hand as it often did.

The latest pink floral ambassador tucked perfectly into the base of Rey’s plait where it lay over her shoulder, and its musky fragrance accompanied her anticipatory flutters to the library. She relayed cautious thanks (and also that without experience on the matter their kissing seemed excellent to her as well), but most notable was that she signed her letter with _Sincerely yours,_ _Rey_ before she realised what she had written.

As a good-will gesture, and because she had blotted the sheet and was anxious to be on horseback, she left her name so.

Already Rey found herself thinking fondly of Benjamin as she had promised, and with more understanding. She allowed herself to again hold some of those youthful future hopes, if only in a tentative and pragmatic manner.

That night before sleep she looked at his miniature and remembered his touch and kisses. Beneath the bedclothes she sought her pleasure too, imagining what it would be to use her sponge under the bare press of his eager body, while her hand rubbed practised circles at the sticky juncture of her thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💜 for kudos & comments.
> 
> CW: minor unwanted attention from a man.
> 
> ***
> 
> _Strike me pink_ – a declaration of truthfulness (referencing older duelling practices of fighting until first blood).
> 
> [Brooks’s](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brooks%27s) club, very aristocratic, still men only. In 1785 the IRL betting book recorded a wager between a Cholmondeley (Chum-lee) and Derby (Dar-bee) for 500 guineas regarding sex in a hot air balloon 🎈🍆💦
> 
> An 1885 [cane gun](https://pin.it/3IfQ4dG).
> 
> Jay’s was the commonly used name for the enormous [London General Mourning Warehouse](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_London_General_Mourning_Warehouse) on Oxford Circus.
> 
> A [spider phaeton carriage](https://pin.it/5zjv5eO), the sports coupe equivalent, not for a coachman.
> 
> [Promenading](https://pin.it/5TZRmWU) in 1894 (main lady in a very Kaydel-approved hat).
> 
> A Liberty & Co [aesthetic dress](https://pin.it/39DP4pR) Rey may have bought. [Peter Yapp](https://pin.it/1WlV9mo) (photo), London shoemaker with royal warrant, traded for 178 years. [Redfern](https://pin.it/ze5hUiH) (advert) was said to have started the English fashion for tailored women’s suits (especially sporting wear). [Jeanne Paquin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeanne_Paquin), the first major woman couturier, and [Jacques Doucet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacques_Doucet_\(fashion_designer\)). John [Penberthy](https://pin.it/1zhv8q0) (advert) for gloves, fans and hosiery. [Oxford St in the 1890s](https://pin.it/3RKkww8) (photo) showing Marshall & Snelgrove.
> 
> [Brown’s Hotel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brown%27s_Hotel) was popular for afternoon tea. Sadly I can find no historical pictures of the space but here is the Harrod’s Stores restaurant [lunch/afternoon tea menu](https://pin.it/2U5o85H) in 1895. (Want to get lost in a complete [1895 Harrod’s Stores catalogue](http://digital.library.wisc.edu/1711.dl/History.VictorianShopping)? I recommend it. Cocaine pastilles in _Drugs & Perfumery_ anyone?)
> 
> Colourised [Rotten Row](https://pin.it/6kuVROA) bridleway (to right. Part of the Hyde Park riding routes) 🌳🐴🌳
> 
> [The Only Running Footman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Only_Running_Footman) is an extant Mayfair pub, since 1749.
> 
> _Sola dosis facit venenum_ – the dose makes the poison.
> 
> _Nil desperandum_ – no need to despair.
> 
> _Nonsensational_ – sensational nonsense.
> 
> Korriban (AKA Moraband), Athiss, Bosthirda and Kalsunor are all Sith planets.
> 
> _In manus tuas commendo spiritum meum_ – into your hands I entrust my spirit.


	6. Varykino to Falconwood Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lady Leia and Miss Holdo open their home to family and friends; Rey and Finn have a heart-to-heart; support is the greatest restorative._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is doing ok. Really thinking of the Philippines at the moment, & if you're in the US congrats on the election (& I very much hope the coup is unsuccessful & things improve soon). What an utterly munted year.

Early on Thursday morning the Varykino party set forth for Lady Leia’s home in a hired post-chaise-and-four, laden with trunks. While Naboo’s railway did stretch its branches from Theed into the furthermost shires, for this occasion Kira too trotted along.

Rey tried to focus on her happiness that this was so, and not to dwell upon how a locomotive could cover fifty miles in an hour when it would now take them a day, in near to high summer. For all that Falconwood Park lay only some two hours by coach north-west of Theed this was certainly not the case from Naberrie.

For Kira’s sake the journey proceeded at enervating leisure between changes at coaching inns, luncheon, and invariably poor coffee. The Duke’s legendary ability to nap proved his great travelling boon (bedding himself in, Rey thought, much like a sack of potatoes), and Kaydel kept up her crochet.

But the lurching carriage compelled Rey to discount reading, to keep her stomach, and while thankfully no landau it was also no private drag. At least their night’s accommodation provided comparative comfort, with a particular bright spot of a jovial ostler (to her relief) and a rather good rhubarb tart.

On Friday afternoon the coach began to ascend the landscape, where hazel and ash now intermingled with highland rowan and rocky outcroppings. Rey fixed upon this new scenery out the window, rotating the smooth curve of her gold bracelet around and around her wrist with jittery fingers. Two clasped hands formed the design, embellished with seed pearls and coral beads; her most recent courting gift.

She had accepted this offering in clearer happiness, and several times read the declaration in his letter: _you had best become used to such things, for I wish to always provide for you in whatever you need or like. (Notes of credit included, in hat or purse at lady’s choice.)_

At first a snippy internal voice had expressed that this was only as he should feel for his responsibility in their arrangement, and also he had once written a _very_ rude comment assuming her shopping habits. But warmth quickly dominated, for intentions stated outright.

Each new envelope in her intended’s handwriting reminded her of the scribbled sheet upon his desk. _Aureylia Nemesia Solo Skywalker_. It sounded… very agreeable, yes, and the ache awakened inside her whenever she now thought of him had only grown as the days passed.

Shortly before five o’clock the land levelled, unveiling Falconwood Park’s awaited gates and wooded grounds stretching long and lush in the approach. They passed from the heat of the sun to the leafy driveway canopy, remaining upon it for quite some time, and as Kira pulled at the reins beneath her postilion and flagged her tail Rey felt much the same; it smelled fresh here, vital, and her skin prickled with anticipation. She too longed to explore.

The handsome manor house appeared on rising ground and entranced her quicker than any sights in Theed. An ancient, ivy-strewn gatehouse tower with last century’s additions emanating from it, of a more moderate scale than Varykino.

At this latter idle thought another pressed upon her full mind, heavy as any masonry stone: eventually the two of them would be entrusted with so much to manage. Rey’s fingers faltered at her bracelet and in her rumination she almost missed the flowerbed remnants of the moat, even a raised portcullis.

The carriage drew to a halt in the great court as a flash of bright gold disappeared inside the front doors, and footmen scarcely descended upon them before the greeting party appeared.

Rey’s gaze locked upon the dark-haired mountain of a man in cream tailoring who strode forward with a look of singular purpose. Her breath stuttered when he handed her down and the flurry around them fell away, nor could any fatigue stay her beaming smile up at him.

“Ben! Gosh I’m so glad to finally be here.”

An achingly soft look passed over his face at this unthinking greeting. “Oh! _Rey_ …” If she did not clearly recognise the warmth and hope beneath it she should have mistaken it for pain. His dimples bloomed as his eyes grazed her form before lingering on the bracelet at her cuff, and not for the first time she found him so very beautiful.

Never before had Rey named Ben so intimately, this three lettered pair to hers. Now, it felt right, and as she knew he wished. Nonetheless Rey resolved to still maintain some distance, until she could ascertain how sustainable and honest his amendatory declarations proved.

He stepped closer, still grasping her hands encased in vexing kidskin impediments, and despite wishing them away she also diverted her untrustworthy tongue. “You grew up in a castle! Or part of one at least.”

“Y-Yes…” Ben blinked several times and chuckled as he exhaled, loosening his grip. “Yes indeed. My father always called my mother princess, therefore they loved the property immediately.”

“How delightful, did you get into mischief atop the battlements?”

“Mostly _with_ my father, but perhaps not as much as you would have I take it?” Rey gave a sly smile in answer so he looked pleased to offer a promise: “During our stay I’ll show you how to work the portcullis.”

But concern clouded his dark amber eyes as a yawn broke her thrilled expression, with a look in them as if considering carrying her indoors.

“Little sunlight, you must be utterly exhausted. Our railway _should_ take equines. When I think of reports of Coruscant’s new steam-powered cousin to the hot air balloon they’re calling a dirigible, I’ve a mind to—” A throat cleared softly, stymieing Rey’s curiosity. “I sense my mother has neared her fill of standing politely aside.”

Lady Leia approached life with natural majesty and rather like an almanac; expecting to be right in all forecasts and seasons. The high collar of her maroon dress framed her face like a ruff, and she still wore both old-fashioned, upswept elaborate braids of her greyed hair and a memorial brooch, its grief woven from silvery strands.

Rey’s heart surged in affection for the woman’s defence of her those years ago. Her soon-to-be _mother_ -in-law, nearest to that connection she had never known yet now, and for no lack of care from Luke, so wished to; she could have _both_.

“Lady Leia, it is wonderful to see you again.” Rey bent to kiss light beige cheeks suffused with cheery pinkness, but found herself enfolded in a vice-like embrace.

“Aureylia dear _likewise_ , and you must call me only Leia as I believe I’ve told you, naughty girl!” She waggled a bejewelled finger before cupping Rey’s face with an incisive gaze. “Look at you, grown to such a charming, self-possessed young woman and _very_ erudite as well. This was no less true in spring, but I must tell you again for I have recently been sung your praises in all new panegyrics, you see.”

A choke behind them became a deliberate, gentlemanly cough and Leia arched a brow above twinkling eyes, heating Rey’s cheeks without to match warmth within.

“Now, this is Miss Holdo, my most dear companion.” The woman of some years younger who stepped forward shared Leia’s complexion, but there similarities ended with her much taller, willowy build and blonde coiffure. In a fawn walking suit she had a very energetic bearing.

“Please call me Aunt Amilyn as Benjamin does, for I would love us to consider each other family rather than insist upon formalities.”

“Thank you, I would love that too,” Rey answered, in genuine pleasure at both reinvigorated and new ties.

“I’m so glad you’ve brought your lovely mare. I ride a great deal, even with Leia when I can prevail upon her to leave the music room! We shall all make a regular party of it.”

“Yes please, I wished to as soon as we entered the grounds. I couldn’t leave Kira behind for so long.”

“Oh!” Lady Leia inhaled sharply. “Oh that’s right dear, yes. Kira… is her name… but I do believe you have told me so before, silly of me… very pretty.” Her voice tremored without its usual force, strange and stilted, and she and Luke exchanged an oddly haunted look while Aunt Amilyn wrapped an arm about her back.

A memory resurfaced of Leia reacting similarly to this information in the past; it had puzzled Rey then as well. But the party proceeded up the steps without an explanation, and at her glance, Ben only shrugged.

Aunt Amilyn’s arm remained protectively so as she gave an account of the knights upon the hall’s old tapestry, and when they reached a stone staircase rising in a central spiral Ben leant down by Rey’s ear.

“You are observant and curious so I will confirm it for you: they are a couple. It took time for me to accept another, after my father, but I’m very grateful my mother found happiness again. With someone already dear to us.” The two certainly appeared suited, more alike in character than any visual difference might suggest.

Joyful greetings heralded Finn and Poe, led by the gilded mechano-butler who soon claimed Rey’s attention. “I’ve seen diagrams for the Chamberlain Mark 3! My friends have improved some parts.”

“We dubbed him Sir Threepenny,” Ben told her, “though we mostly call him Thruppence.”

“Oh he is like a shiny copper! How goes his voice modulator? R2’s is constant trouble and his cog-work no longer retains a full winding.”

The smaller automaton surfaced from his lurking, still splotched with road dust and beeping loudly.

“I say!” exclaimed Thruppence in clear if plummy speech. “I am _not_ too tightly wound you discourteous tea urn. My springs are turned daily to precise operational parameters!”

Rey regretted her inquisitiveness under the weight of Thruppence’s civilities to his _Young Master Benjamin’s_ future wife, with Ben more amused than helpful and the others suddenly made scarce. Eventually she retreated for a long-anticipated bath, and re-joined the group upon the terrace overlooking the gardens in a blouse and floral skirt, cinched with a corselet belt.

Under the warm glow of the early evening sun Luke made a trapped audience of Aunt Amilyn to expound upon _Early Curled Simpson_. Leia slipped inside, claiming a pre-dinner urgency with the kitchen (casting an apologetic look back at her beloved but not, Rey noted, slowing her stride).

Rey chose euchre from what her companions proposed, to rouse her brain after prolonged confinement, and partnered with Finn notwithstanding Ben’s mouth setting into something very like a pout. He remained crestfallen until Poe, with a glint in his eye, distracted by turning conversation to their university rowing. But his flattery of _Solo’s prowess as an oarsman_ did not take long to devolve into more disorderly stories.

“Solo was entirely up the pole by tea-time after paying our extended respects to the beerage. When he attempted to enter his scull he fell in the river! Dragging him out was no easy feat given the bally size of him.”

Poe threw down a card and Rey shook with laughter around a mouthful of ginger beer, meeting Ben’s gaze in his pursed-lipped indecision between embarrassment and pleasure at her merriment. He raised an eyebrow.

“Granted. Perhaps Rey would also like to hear of how much chalk you managed to eat upon that wager, Dameron?”

“Oh come now, that was many years before—”

“Rey very much would!” she choked out.

Play continued relaxed and convivial amidst the chaffing, which only increased in the opposing ranks with every trick Finn took.

“I’ve been wondering Dameron,” growled Ben as he cast aside his hand, “which tailor was brave enough to give rise to your howling bags? So I may avoid them.”

Poe clutched his chest. “ _My_ natty trousers? In fine yellow plaid as is _perfectly_ seasonal? Finn, tell Solo how—”

“No.” Finn raised his glass to swirl its liquid. “I see I’m going to need an actual tipple.” Wisely he continued to refuse to mediate, called for ale from Thruppence, and tilted his boater over his face.

Thus cornered, Rey pronounced herself in favour, for they certainly were bright, and Poe pranced the terrace in vocal satisfaction while ignoring Ben.

After rescuing his own trampled hat from the paws of an enlivened Bébé running circles around their table, Poe fixed Rey with a mischievous look. “Solo had the morbs for days after your first reply you know. Quite deserved it. Wouldn’t even listen to my trinket recommendations when we—”

“Because pearls alone would have been a wasted opportunity, you goose.”

“Yes, the _hair_ , the _eyes_. He wouldn’t stop going on about those either,” Poe retorted with a conspiratorial wink, and she glanced at Ben and then away with how hotly he looked at her.

Rey’s glass, thankfully, was chill within her grip, for it seemed he really did speak so highly of her whenever he could.

“I _had_ told Solo not to be a mooncalf at the outset but of course he wrote in highest secrecy, only informed me of his folly _after_ —”

“Pay attention man or you’ll lose us another hand! Drink up, better employ your mouth.” But the corners of Ben’s lips quivered.

Poe took exactly one sip of ale and ginger beer from a glass in each hand before persisting against sartorial insult. “Waited until my _‘meddlesome’_ self was out of a morning, didn’t he? Actually roused at that hour for once, dashed underhanded I said—“

“At considerable length,” lamented Finn. “My exams were quite headache enough.” Yet his expression belied his words, recompensed now by the barley wine.

“But oh ho! _Then_ Solo wanted my advice when you replied,” Poe continued unmoved (or perhaps encouraged) while Ben took to his own ginger beer, repudiating nothing. “So picture him mooning and striding about dam— _dashing_ and blasting everything until—”

“A more about and about fellow I’ve never known, Dameron.”

“That’s why _I_ had the aptitude to read philosophy,” countered he without missing a beat. “As I was saying, licking his wounds! _Until_ the Duke accepted his dinner invitation and he felt he might begin to woo you.” Poe smirked before narrowing his eyes, paused mid-gesticulation. “You made him wait deliberately too, was my notion.”

Rey pulled her lips inward upon a curt nod, trying not to laugh, and he slapped his thigh.

“Good show! Put him entirely orf chump though, poor soul made a worse call than what I heard of his last loss at baccar— _oof_!” He jolted beneath the tablecloth nearest to Ben.

“Which Naberrie has pledged to me he is no longer liable to do,” interceded Finn, with a worried glance at Rey and a more severe countenance to his fellows. “Heavy gambling’s for wasters.”

“Indeed,” agreed Ben tightly. “I did not inherit my father’s aptitude and should have respected my natural abhorrence for arithmetic. There are now… far better uses of my time.” Rey’s belly swooped at welcome assurances paired with such intensity in his eyes. They could not be more unsuited to a gamester’s bluffing.

Poe leant down to rub at an aggrieved limb. “Yes, too true, and you’re better for it. Being tamed suits you,” he concluded, frowning at his hand. “God, I think I’d rather you’d picked whist, Rey. Well, Solo’s a dashed lucky blighter you never insisted on new horizons.”

Ben’s nostrils flared and his jaw tensed before Poe shut his, and though he held his peace he gave her a near imperceptible nod above his cards.

Poe’s obliviousness of her marital prospects riled her but she could not trouble herself at his teasing of Ben; her dudgeon had greatly faded, not gone. Yet Rey wondered to what extent Vizconde Dameron acted a dog with a bone deliberately, and what was thoughtless zeal.

“See here Naberrie,” Finn’s deliberate levity broke the tension, “I’m shocked Ptolemy was never a sober and respectable enough influence for you.” He secured them the game 10–7 as he spoke (a credit to his mathematical outlook rather than Rey’s middling skill).

“Ha! Utter gammon, Sabreur!” Ben protested, albeit gratefully. “Good thing we didn’t lay down coin, you two have had us.” He slapped his partner’s shoulder, who was engaged in a wretched expression of desolate sporting loss.

“We sit a‘table with two sharks,” Poe agreed, recovered in a moment. “As you both know I leave the business of dedicated righteousness to Peregrine and Percival, a man doesn’t need to be a parson. Percy’s probably even going to go into the dashed Church… at least Pliny knows how to have fun.”

Finn rolled his eyes and broke into a chuckle, flicking cards at the pair who likewise lapsed into boyishness. At some point recently her friend had allowed Ben to call him by a familiar name, and such a realisation jumbled her insides, growing that ache.

* * *

Rey rested her chin on the back of her hand and looked out at the night sky, at the clear stars above the discordant song of evening crickets.

In the distance sounded the shrill cry of a fox, perhaps from a whole skulk of them out there happily going about their vulpine business. Little wonder, like this, that Falconwood already felt comfortable and even familiar.

Finn shifted upon their terrace step and she let her eyes trace his profile caught in the soft glow from the windows behind. Despite recent changes in style his appearance had not so altered as was once typical after any long separation between them.

How jarring it was when he had returned from Harrow grown several inches, or his voice turned dissonant and then deeper, his face less round. She had felt utterly betrayed by nature that such things could occur without her, worrying too that he would eventually leave her behind. He never did.

“Everyone was well at Amity when I visited on Tuesday,” Rey murmured into the comfortable hush between them. “Freddy looked darling upon his spotted pony, quite the little horseman.”

“Yes he’s so much our grandfather in aspect and temperament. He pigeoned me a very competent drawing of Jacquerie yesterday actually, it made me miss riding even more.” Rey hummed agreement; Finn’s handsome thorough-bred remained at leisure at Amity Court during term, where Finn had not yet returned. “I feel we had barely any time to talk in Theed—"

“Because we didn’t!” she laughed.

“Your whirlwind expedition. How are you? And no falsehoods. Letters are not the same, you may distract me by writing questions about Poe or my studies—" Rey snorted, wholly caught out— “yet your expectations must now have changed. I know what Naberrie promised me but don’t think I haven’t noticed how _you’ve_ been looking at him as well. Like a pining little doe or—”

Finn broke off with a laugh as Rey swatted his arm. It always rattled her to be reminded that just as she watched people, so too did others observe her. At least he could not clearly do so now.

She rubbed her thumb along the shadowed terrace stone. “So… what _did_ Ben say to you?”

“Nothing he said he wouldn’t be telling you himself. Besides, I think at this point neither of you need recounting from anyone else, you need to keep talking to each other.”

Rey pulled back and regarded him as best she could with a furrowed brow and new eyes. Perhaps nature had betrayed her again after all, in a more inward fashion.

“Have you gone and become _wise_ in the last few months?" Finn demurred sheepishly at this by waving a hand. “Good Lord you have! I thought you’d done all your growing up and I had little more to shock me when I saw you! Apart from the moustache.”

“Oh hush, it is all the fashion. No, if anyone is astonished it is _me_ with how you’ve recently matured.”

Finn had always spoken to her with candour in least offence so Rey considered the truth to his words, testing her answer upon her tongue. “I am... in fact fairly well contented, it surprises me. You know I’d hoped Ben and I might come to tolerate each other, spending time together when required in certain seasons…”

“Yet now he is _Ben_ , to you.” Finn did not need to turn his head for her to sense the weight of his regard.

She puffed out a breath. “Yes. He is. I—I believe we’re becoming— or we _are_ friends, and I’m learning what courting is like. I am… fond of him I think, more and more.” The stone anchored her, cool and rough beneath her fingers, and Finn made an encouraging noise so she exhaled again. “But there is a great deal that’s overwhelming, and the issue of my home location remains. This part was easier while at odds: him in one place, me in the other!”

“Feeling overwhelmed is understandable, it is entirely new. I do certainly agree you are _fond_.”

“Vexing, teasing man! Always were,” Rey grumbled affectionately.

Finn held up his hands in mock surrender. “Only a rank fabulist could claim I ever did so more than you. Besides, I so contend upon empirical evidence. To wit: your absence from Naberrie’s music room and his pursuit. Your return, rumpled and flushed, and the fellow spending the rest of his evening staring at you like eleven courses had been poor fulfilment.”

“ _Finn_!” Rey covered her burning face with her hands, wishing none would ever again observe her at all.

“I do _not_ want any detailed account, don’t misunderstand me. Unless it is to know to adjust myself to the idea of impending godfatherhood. I do think I should be a good one.”

Rey shook her head and elbowed him as she laughed in disbelieving chokes, and he vibrated beside her with self-satisfaction while she caught her breath.

“In seriousness, hold fast about your residence and I believe you’ll see yourself right. Naberrie is simply over-accustomed to getting his way. If the undeserving man swears he’s ready to hang up his ladle he’d best remember he considers another now besides himself. I won’t care a Pall Mall for any excuses if he doesn’t, he’ll hear from me, and Poe as well. Nonetheless… I _am_ happy for your future happiness, that this isn’t how we both thought it would be.”

Rey could not but feel relieved, for the sake of the gentlemen’s armistice, that she had kept the exact nature of Ben’s words those years ago to herself. Although she did not find Finn’s assessment of over-indulgence entirely fair, given Ben’s prior feelings on being pushed into the betrothal, she smiled out into the darkness at her friend’s support and ever unapologetic partiality. (Amused too by the adoption already of some of his beau’s vivid expression.)

She bumped his shoulder. “Thank you. If I wasn’t so full I’d drag you to the orchard for more dessert.”

“Oh yes,” Finn replied archly, with a snort, “because the kitchens contain no element of challenge. I can envision it now, getting chased off by a gardener who sees a light and doesn’t know us from Adam, and you falling out of a tree or over a wall. Nothing finer to increase this tentative bonhomie between Naberrie and I.”

He mimed adjusting a monocle, affecting an even more refined accent: “Here’s your future wife old chap, sorry about the ankle. If she’s still be-crutched by your wedding day, not to worry, we can have her in a festooned splint and consider the bruising her something blue.”

Rey huffed (of the opinion moreover that Ben would rightly not pin any caper upon Finn). “I hurt my leg _once_!”

“And _who_ was the lucky soul to carry you back to the Duke?” he retorted. Rey chortled then, unable to maintain her affront, which became a cackle when Finn wheezed as well. Only when her long journey asserted itself in a flood of yawns did they finally seek their beds.

* * *

The next morning Rey slept late for her, very much more enervated from the days of travel than expected. It had gone ten o’clock before Kaydel could rouse her with a delivery of her usual favourite fare, for which forethought Rey gave effusive, if groggy, thanks.

“You’re in better spirits than His Grace this fine morn, Miss Aureylia!”

Rey stretched and blinked, looking quizzical.

“Within his breakfast tray newspaper was a photograph of _Emperor Palpatine_ you see. Wallis the first footman told me it put him into a _foul_ mood. The Emperor was sat right beside the Grand Duke at a Korriban state banquet, after he’d been up to diplomacy in Athiss withal. Or so the report said.”

Rey wrinkled her nose. To her knowledge Exegol had not undertaken such widespread engagements for many years. “Sometimes I think we should withhold him the papers, at least in his bedchamber. All that acrimony cannot be healthful.”

Kaydel hummed from twitching lips. “Horticultural weeklies only? His Grace doesn’t much like Athiss either, does he. Wallis had quick wits enough to send for Mr Thruppence with the plans for next season’s vegetable beds, and that automaton could talk the legs off an iron pot. You know, I don’t think I’ve actually seen a photograph of the Emperor before. Not that he was very clear mind, in the crowd.”

Rey murmured agreement, for she too had only ever seen Archduke Sidious engraved within military history books that were rather too dry to sustain interest.

Exegol maintained an insular stance on its society yet she had read of the country’s geography, and it was hard to imagine such a contrast to Falconwood Park out the window. An arid, cold climate, with its Hâsk Desert plateau abutting Naboo’s sparsely inhabited plains at the northern half of the border.

But such thoughts unsettled, conjuring up horrible historical accounts, so she cast them aside in favour of breakfast.

By the time Rey made her way to a sun-drenched, ornamented retreat appropriately named The Aldera Drawing Room (for a poke about, reading, and lolling) Finn and Poe had departed to ramble. In hopes too, Thruppence said, of bagging a roebuck from one of the estate’s woodland bevies.

She expected Ben to be likewise occupied, yet not twenty minutes passed before he joined her with a book of his own, and bleary-eyed although the hour exceeded eleven. He admitted he was still adjusting to more frequent rising before midday, for her sake, but avowed no chance of not monopolising her company when he could, with his uncle’s reclusive bugbear more at rest.

Such confessions secured Ben her hand held in his, his bare touch thrilling her no less upon this second occasion. By his side, in a tea gown purchased herself in Liberty of peach silk and ivory linen, Rey felt for the first time what it might be like as the proper lady of her household. In truth, she relished it.

Their conversation flowed into long, easy lulls set to the rustle of turning pages, while she sipped lime cordial and he took tea. Ben stroked each outdoors-begotten blemish upon her knuckles with his large fingers as if appreciating marks of beauty, and professed a need for this quiet after long amongst people.

To each other’s relief they could find such peace together, for Rey had never lacked solitude when desired in her limited rural society, and recent livelier events showed her she required the same.

Her future husband really did have a reserved and sensitive gentleness. Even, she had begun to think, as his greater part.

“I—I intend to take an active role in the Lords when I inherit the seat,” Ben voiced hesitantly, seeming uncertain now of disrupting their silence. “For important matters where I feel I may do good. I don’t wish to speak heartlessly of the duchy’s succession—” he squeezed her hand— “on the contrary, I have been giving thought to my responsibilities. Your sense of duty throughout… everything, has rather rekindled mine.”

Rey set down her book to beam at him, ready to forget all resolve and kiss his cheek in pride. Perhaps she made it obvious, for his expression fell when Leia, already speaking, bustled into the room.

“Aureylia! I _am_ happy to find you here, both of you! This is my _favourite_ little sanctuary, it holds so many memories of dear Breha and Bail and is _always_ perfect for a languorous day.”

Rey hastened her slippered feet to the floor from where they tucked against Ben’s side, and he released her hand to fidget under the sagacious maternal eye.

Leia needed no encouragement to recount her early years in Alderaan once Rey even hinted at a desire to visit. “When you two do travel I shall write letters of introduction, for I maintain many— You know, I _do_ believe Benny has been too enraptured with you to listen to a _word_ we are saying, in _either_ language.”

Ben flushed and cleared his throat. “No, I’ve—”

“Aureylia dear, I really _must_ thank you for inspiring a grand alteration in my Benny’s habits. Already this stay has had _none_ of the usual arguments, and I have enjoyed several weeks without a _single_ piece of disagreeable news from Theed.”

Ben turned positively scarlet and Rey a slighter hue, welcome information or no. “ _Mother_!” he hissed, charming in youthful renascence as he disrupted his concealing haircut with flustered hands.

“Oh look,” Leia cooed, “do you remember I could _always_ tell when you’d been naughty as a boy, your ears would turn _quite_ the colour of—”

A rap sounded upon the door jamb and Ben’s face snapped to it awash with relief. 

“Hello, I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“Aunt Amilyn, join us! Tell Aureylia about your time as headmistress of Theed Ladies’ College,” Ben exclaimed before turning desperately to Rey. “It promotes cog-work and steam technology, and my mother is a long-standing benefactress. Aunt Amilyn’s biographies of women poets deserve every adulation as well.”

His flattery lit the scholar’s face but she cast Leia an assessing look. “I would be glad to. Are you causing trouble dearest? You have that air about you.”

“Oh _pooh_!” huffed Leia, waving a hand, but she did not complete her anecdote (to Rey’s regret) and rang for luncheon.

After a plate of salmagundi Aunt Amilyn remembered to tell them the Duke was much restored, now arisen from a conservatory divan to study a variety of cucumber.

“Do you think the lettuces have reason to be jealous for his affections?” Ben whispered near Rey’s ear. “What would be your sentiments on a _Cucumis sativus skywalker_?”

She snickered, warning with her eyes of her desire to swallow – rather than inhale – water biscuit and potted shrimp. “I’d rather a namesake _Musa_.”

“I agree,” inserted Leia, “our forcing house has _much_ success with bananas, but you may need to divert my brother from pineapples.” Her expression turned pert. “ _However_ , a marchioness and future duchess could _surely_ make requests of the gardeners.”

The walnuts and ricciarello Rey reached for in lieu of a reply only turned heavy and cloying upon her tongue, hiding none of the self-doubt written upon her face from Leia’s scrutiny.

“Lynnie, was I not saying _just_ the other day that I _cannot_ think of a better young woman to step into this role?”

Rey’s heart raced when Aunty Amilyn assented as if the matter were obvious, and Leia reached to pat her hand.

“I shall let you in on a _secret_ of all noble ladies, Aureylia: even with lessons in etiquette and all the rest of it, by necessity we learn as we go along and so shall _you_. You will find matters to drive you to extend _your_ influence and support as well, just like my mother’s focus on improvements for mothers and children.”

Rey gave her a shaky smile, somewhat lightened in heart, and Leia regarded the pair as she finished the last of her buttered saffron bun.

“I think Lynnie and I shall be _very_ negligent chaperones and leave you again to your books and conversation. Although I don’t know if such overbearing shepherding is considered so _strictly_ necessary now? It nettled me a _great_ deal in my youth I can tell you!”

“I believe it is still commended,” Aunt Amilyn remarked, “but rather too provoking to the youngsters for us to reside in their pockets in a family setting.” She gave them a colluding wink and ushered Leia from the room.

Ben shifted nearer before their skirts had vanished from sight, bringing Rey’s hand to his chest with soft, undisguised faith in his eyes.

“She is right, you will be wonderful,” he rushed out. “You must believe that I will also be learning as I go. We shall do so _together_ , and I promise I will help you however I may.”

His heart too galloped beneath his waistcoat against her touch; to Rey’s relief, for she was not isolated in her fears. Perhaps the position need not be so daunting after all, but she floundered for an adequate response, suddenly tired again and unmatched to conversation.

A small upturn of warm understanding settled upon Ben’s mouth and he released her to cut a morsel for her plate. “Here sweetheart, try the cheddar, it’s very good.”

As she chewed he returned to his book and their quiet, just as she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💜 for kudos & comments. They're wonderful for writing encouragement.
> 
> CW: mention of being drunk and gambling.
> 
> ***
> 
> A private hire [post-chaise](https://pin.it/GD5RaSO) had no coachman’s box and was driven by riding postilion(s), who would also change along the route (and Kira gets one too). Known for speed, assuming _all_ horses change at posting inns. Aside: postilions started the practice of ‘posting’ the trot for long distances; rising and falling in the saddle.
> 
> _Ostler_ – stableman at an inn.
> 
> Leia's amazing [maroon ruff-collared dress](https://pin.it/5Ymj7ze).
> 
> _Up the pole_ – drunk (modern usage has other meanings too e.g. pregnant).
> 
> _Beerage_ – references the ennoblement of rich brewers (e.g. the Guinness heirs) 🍺
> 
> _Howling bags_ – very loud trousers of an exaggerated pattern or style.
> 
> _The morbs_ – melancholy.
> 
> _About and about_ – talking for talking’s sake.
> 
> _Orf chump_ – to lose ones appetite, originally of horses.
> 
> _Jacquerie_ 🐎 – a communal revolt or uprising.
> 
> _Hang up the ladle_ – to marry.
> 
> _Don’t care a Pall Mall_ – don’t give a damn (damn was a very strong curse, too boorish for mixed or polite company, hence _dashed_ ).
> 
> [Hâsk Desert](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/H%C3%A2sk_desert) is a region on Exegol.
> 
> Rey's stunning [Liberty aesthetic tea gown](https://pin.it/6vXgzqZ). Kaydel would probably have preferred Rey buy [this brocade confection](https://pin.it/6FD66gE). Sorry Kaydel.
> 
> _Salmagundi_ – the original (since 1600s) elaborate chef's/cobb salad.
> 
> _Ricciarello_ (singular) – a traditional Italian chewy almond biscuit.


	7. Hacking It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _An equestrian outing provides a source of deeper bonding – and important negotiations – for both horses and their riders; Rey eavesdrops again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get this chapter out before it's no longer 2020... somewhere (it's 2021 in New Zealand already, but shhh). Meanwhile I think I'm still 20% trifle and 35% pavlova from Christmas leftovers (15% plum pudding, 30% necessaries). Fingers crossed everything starts to globally improve...

On Sunday Rey learned that the Duke’s long apathy toward religious observance found its equal in his sister’s household, when her coffee and toast tray bore a note from Aunt Amilyn suggesting they might go out hacking before brunch.

She readied herself with alacrity in a peacock blue habit with burgundy braiding, now itching to explore Falconwood’s verdant expanse while hopefully making a fine impression on horseback as well.

By the back doorway Rey passed Thruppence hefting a struggling Bébé, away from forewarned equine provocation, and greeted them at little less than a run with the long side of her skirt gripped tight in hand.

Yet she stopped short in a stumble upon rounding the stable courtyard, for the sight there so arrested both breath and footsteps that she nearly dropped her cane.

The man Rey wished to see awaited, yes, but beside a magnificent stallion of at least seventeen hands high and likely more, as black as jet. It took several moments to return her attention to human niceties and note the crooked little smile upon Ben’s lips, paused mid-scratch of the horse’s gleaming withers as she approached.

Now Rey heeded it he displayed his own strong haunches, in really _rather_ fitted long breeches and field boots with a jacket of olive drab. She tried to keep her gaze to an appropriate height, not least for obtrusive memories of his library.

“I finally meet your novel Friesian Arabian crossbreed!” she exclaimed, salutatory politeness finding its limit in her enchantment. “He really is near draught in scale, and yet so athletically built. Oh I adore the fetching feathering retained upon his fetlocks, I see why you went to great lengths for such a handsome fellow!”

Ben’s chest puffed as any cock robin at her awed tones. “All thirteen an’ half hundredweight of him.”

“ _No_!”

“Just so, his name is Kylothius and he can be a devilishly spirited beast with those besides myself, so mind your person. He nipped Dameron rather sharply last week.” The stallion tossed his head and whickered roughly, as if in unrepentant agreement. “Now Kylo lad, don’t make an ass of yourself in front of your future mistress. Let me at least attempt to impress her, if you please.”

A smile tugged at Rey’s mouth and she shucked a glove to extend up (and up) a cautious hand. Yet Kylo stood meekly, dipping his glossy head before bunting with hot breaths against her shoulder, and trying to nibble her topper.

Ben barked a soft laugh. “So you _can_ mind your manners in company, you debonair brute.”

She pressed a delighted kiss to Kylo’s velvety muzzle and scratched beneath his forelock braid, to great effect. “He has utterly charmed me. All of a proud bearing, yet a hidden darling beneath it.” She cast Ben a glance, suddenly conscious that this observation applied to both the massive stallion and his appropriately scaled rider. Human cheeks, she fancied, reddened.

“I must say, however affable Poe is he might drive one to bloodthirst on occasion. So I’m sure all shocking accounts of Kylo’s bad behaviour must be exaggerated.”

A rather undignified snort expelled from Ben, matched as his horse began to scent the air. “Kylo will tell you so, he’s exceedingly taken with you. I confess a wish to soon steal a moment again, Rey, lest I become jealous of attentions paid to my mount.”

His tone lilted, soft and teasing, but sadly went unanswered by any playful quip upon her tongue, as a groom led Kira toward them and they were no longer alone.

“I took the liberty of introducing myself to your charming red dun,” Ben revealed, after clearing his throat. “On the off-chance Kira had secrets about you to share.”

“And did she?”

“Oh I’ll never betray a confidence, but I believe we are now friends after what she deemed appropriate veneration. And one large _Daucus carota sativus_.”

Rey took the reins with a chuckle, while Kylo tugged hard at Ben’s grip. The stallion emitted a forceful whinny of greeting, eager at once to investigate the mare of clear recent interest, regardless of tepid reception.

“Whoa boy, none of that! _Now_ you attempt to embarrass yourself.”

“By and by you may have better luck Kylo, or perhaps in Kira’s next season. I have thought we’d get a lovely foal from her,” Rey hummed.

“And he’ll readily volunteer to sire it if they’re left alone. Treat Kira as a lady, m’lad. You must _romance_ her or she’ll turf you out on your ear from the stables. A bushels of oats and a sonnet or two couldn’t hurt.”

Rey giggled and found herself leaning toward her intended, drawn by his relaxed demeanour as they watched the unfolding equine courtship.

“Perhaps a full bunch of carrots tied with a bow,” she whispered when the mare allowed the stallion nearer without further objection. “I think he’s in love.”

“I agree,” Ben murmured slowly upon a soft exhale. “I very much believe so.”

A peculiar tone quavered in his voice, devoid of their jesting, and Rey looked up to find his gaze no longer upon their horses but focussed down at herself. Its warm weight pressed upon her, so very intense she had to avert her eyes. Sure, too, he should hear the hammering of her heart.

To what extent to take his meaning she felt uncertain, yet this continued affection was itself more than the mutual accord she had once dared hope for.

With the party now gathered Ben insisted upon providing gentlemanly aid to the mounting block, and Rey’s amusement at this faltered with not just a large hand clasping her boot, but a decidedly appreciative one girding overmuch of her waist.

Some puckish spirit possessed him for he stole a chance to caress her hooked calf, while lingering in keen supervision of the lay of her skirt atop her breeches. Little aid to the preservation of Rey’s modesty could truly be had from one with such a glassy-eyed expression, who seemed to have forgotten their company.

“While I’ll ride in any manner this is a lot more fuss and fabric,” Rey declared, her firmly conversational tone aimed like a pail of cold water. “For I admit I prefer to be astride, with the independence of a stirrup for each foot.”

“Do you now?” Ben replied in a low voice, sounding oddly less shocked than heated by her proclivities. “ _Mulier equitans_ … good to know.” He raised an eyebrow while fixing his attention on adjusting her hem.

_Woman riding_ translated simply enough, but was scarcely so intended with such insinuation. After a moment of contemplation, the implication dawned; perhaps she required a real stable bucket to hand.

“Lord Naberrie!”

“Oh dear, back to my title. I shall buckle lip, oh lovely _amazone_ , and make no further comment.” He tipped his bowler with laughing eyes. “Kylothius old chum, we’re both in hot water. Let us behave ourselves.”

Yet nothing could have prevented her from imagining the two of them in that position (and certainly not the athleticism with which he swung himself into his saddle). It was far from an unwelcome image.

* * *

All rode out, electing to go to Osprey Hill some six miles north. Lady Leia and Aunt Amilyn aside matched liver chestnut mares, and Finn and Poe upon Falconwood’s bay geldings, whose sweet natures tempered the pair’s attempted antics.

The day unfurled itself warm but not over-hot, with breeze enough to brush deliciously through Rey’s cotton twill garments, bringing the pollen-heavy scent of high summer. A familiar kiss of Naboo’s finest season that her very bones knew from every year of her life.

They trotted over the parkland before taking to country lanes, where plump bumblebees busied themselves upon wildflowers, beneath hawthorn and gorse hedgerows limned gold by the morning sun.

The others happily let them canter ahead or pause as they wished (especially Leia, who would not ride so vigorously as she once had), and in conversation with Ben, taking in every new sight and sound, Rey found herself imagining this all as an outline; a sketch of her future life.

His contented smile in her direction rendered her giddy, for she realised that it could, possibly, be so.

“You must drive very well too,” she blurted, catching her breath as their horses walked after galloping across several gated meadows. Her challenge to do so had been little more than pretext, to witness the stallion’s powerful movement through a jump, and Ben’s firm seat and gentle direction at the reins.

For such a large man he moved with rare grace and Kylo’s trust, employing no aggression or force to compensate for poor horsemanship. Rey, who believed the opposite divulged a ghastly character insupportable in a husband, thought more highly of him as a result.

His response was gratified, if amused. “Why thank you for the confidence, I consider myself proficient for purpose. Do you wish to learn?”

“Yes, very much! With four-in-hand and your phaeton.”

Some deeper, secret kind of satisfaction suffused his expression at her answer. “Then I will teach you. I’ll wager you’ll handle my team admirably.”

Rey nibbled at her lip, weighing up whether to share her aspirations just yet. These ambitions were hardly ladylike, and most would argue especially unbefitting of her future station (however much she disagreed with narrow ideologies). Yet Ben had displayed no disapproval of her inner qualities since being on better terms.

She pushed aside old memories of old words, that bruise now aching only should she prod at it.

“A penny for your thoughts, did I misspeak?”

Rey blinked across at him. “Oh, no! No, I am flattered by your confidence in me as well. I was merely thinking…”

She breathed in before rushing out, “I wish to breed and train horses in the future. I haven’t bred them yet but I believe I should be good at it, and if— well…” she added more tentatively, “it would be very agreeable to do so _with_ you, I think.”

His countenance held nothing but joy at this, at his overtures regarding their shared future now finally reciprocated by one of hers. “It is your dream, I fathom.”

She hummed her agreement shyly, awash with relief.

“Rey, thank you for sharing it with me. I would be delighted. This does not surprise me, I knew you were a stable-mind and you have a clear talent. The countryside has scarce met my notice today with all my observance of you, and I foresee riding together being one of my life’s great pleasures.”

Rey glowed at his praise and easy assent as they trotted down a lane, her cheeks heating so as could not be blamed upon the sun.

“Thank you. You know, your father helped stoke my interest in it. I don’t remember a great deal about him I’m sorry to say, given my age at the time, but he told me so many interesting things as if I were far more grown. As is _ever_ a way to make a firm friend of a curious child.”

Ben watched her speak with a bittersweet, faraway expression. “He was like that. Gruff sometimes, but able to find common ground with almost anyone in his natural, plain-spoken manner. A thoroughly decent man. We rode together frequently when I was younger. He had me on horseback with him before I could walk.”

“I’m so sorry you lost him,” Rey responded quietly, “that must have been very hard.” The mournful note in his voice plucked at her heart; it had been so for Finn, she well remembered.

Ben worked his jaw, looking straight ahead down the roadway. “Yes. Yes it was. We had not… not always seen eye to eye, in my youth, but were closer again. I felt his loss… very keenly. Especially as I was away at university when he fell ill. Despite haste I arrived home too late, it was so quick.”

“Oh _Ben_ ,” she breathed, “and you were twenty-two?”

“Yes. I… took it very ill. I increasingly gave over to disreputable conduct in my free hours, despite enthusiasm for my studies. It is a wonder I was not rusticated from my college.” A shadow passed over his face, his words pushed out as if each dislodged painfully from his throat. “It was an armour of sorts, I believe. A helm I put on… for the little good it did at protecting me.”

Ben huffed, a sad, bitter sound, and scratched an ineffectual gloved thumbnail at the turn of its rein.

“Well, now it all seems rather foolish and desultory. As Dameron did try to tell me many a time, the man is loyal to a fault.” He met her gaze speakingly, more bared somehow in this moment than were he unclothed.

“To be frank, with my awkwardness in youth followed by how I acted, I had accepted that I would not find l—find happiness in marriage. That my nature would never inspire fondness, or should poison what grew. My grandfather hobbled himself in the same manner, you see. A family rot.”

At his hollow laugh at himself Rey shifted yet again in her saddle, wanting nothing more than to be able to grasp his hand. This desire thrummed against her breastbone, aching at Ben behaving poorly and thus, for so many years, believing himself innately predestined for an unfulfilling life.

If her own loss had happened near her current age, and after discord, how would it have shaped her and swayed her actions? Although a young gentleman possessed more avenues for dissipation, she knew her headstrong nature enough to vividly imagine it, and likewise the shame and guilt.

“I think there is little benefit in a philosophy of perpetual sin and retribution, if one has genuinely turned over a new leaf,” she told him at last, “and it is never too late for it. There is a great deal of goodness in you, Ben. In fact, I have very lately come to believe this quality is your major part, and any imprudence and choler the minor. I am glad to further understand you.”

With every word that fell from Rey’s lips the more resolutely she believed the sentiment, each a promise that she would not strike at him when he was so exposed. Yesterday he had voiced just the right thing to soothe her duchy anxieties. Perhaps she might now do the same.

“You will not be alone Ben, and you _are_ not so.”

After a lull punctuated by hoof beats, soft equine interchange, and their party’s voices drifting from far behind them, he spoke with a rough, catching voice. “Thank you, I see that at last. And Rey, nor are you. I hope to always give you reason to continue your belief in me.”

A smile flickered, then lifted upon his face before he mumbled, a touch wry, “Oh blessed _Fortuna Obsequens_ … no divine punishment comes my way after all.”

How he looked at her now, she fancied, was as if the sun had come out upon a day in dismal winter and not their summertime setting. Her acceptance shining upon everything he had told her, just as sunlight faded old stains.

Their conversation fell into more jovial matters, to Ben’s travels, as they neared the village of Kitesthorp. She teased that he had run away abroad because of their betrothal; in essence, in fear of her. At first she found him uncertain of causing offence, blushing and stammering denials, but eventually he joined her mirth and imparted the liberation and occasional loneliness of traveling by himself, before employing Mitaka in Lessu, as well as his favourite sights and places.

If Rey would go with him he wished to see her reaction to Lessu’s new iron tower in person; whether she would feel as the local artists regarding the monstrous bolted pyramid, or be as impressed as he by an ode to modern engineering.

Having now come to fancy herself as a future lady errant, assent was simple, and Ben’s grin bloomed wide before he bashfully tried to constrain it. With little success, thankfully.

She was easy to talk to, he told her, upon the deep and the light of life, and Rey likewise found herself revealing her feelings on her own early loss and the mystery of her mother’s identity. Even about those strange nightmares, which she had told no one of before.

He had begun already to feel like safety, she realised, like future kin. A revelation far less shocking than she would hitherto have expected, and if this was courting, it was a fine thing.

In Kitesthorp, with Ben procuring vittles in the stone grocer’s store, Rey did some foraging of her own. Happy hunting absorbed her along the hedgerow of a lane not taken, and she cursed beneath an overhanging wild cherry at the deterrent to climbing inherent in her skirts.

Approaching footsteps near escaped her notice.

“What ho! So this is why Sabreur and Dameron are thwarting the ruckus. My rapscallion fellow has been whispering _shall I compare thee to summer's hay_ in your fine lady’s ear, yet all the while some winsome woodland creature here is hunched over in a ditch, quite guileless!”

Rey gave a stifled chortle up at him around a mouthful of sweet, astringent fruit, and he widened his eyes.

“And she has found herself a feast. Hopefully not begetting a stomach ache. Come, there is a spot upon your cheek, allow me…” Ben drew out his handkerchief as she straightened, cradling her jaw to dab at her.

“And your chin, dear me… quite vermillion about the mouth. There now… your pretty rouge is confined to a _very_ lovely place for it.” His tongue skimmed over his full bottom lip while those wonderful, deep eyes flicked up to hers and burned before dropping once more.

Had they been more alone she would have stepped upon tip toes to place her lips upon his without a second thought, but in its place she pushed her cheek further against his glove. Anything to quench the tight, sweet sort of affection that had by degrees pooled in her chest, and now threatened to submerge her.

What exactly it meant Rey could only wonder, as the yearning for greater contact tugged so, that her body swayed toward him.

Something fervent flashed in Ben’s eyes, but he balled his handkerchief in his fist upon a frustrated groan. His chest expanded with a deliberate breath as he looked back down the lane, before he released her jaw and offered his arm instead. “Come, little flower. I share your sentiments, but they are waiting for us.”

* * *

Upon Osprey Hill overlooking the village Aunt Amilyn and Poe laid blankets on the grass, under the gnarled shade of an old beech through which the sun filtered, not yet directly overhead. They uncorked tart lemonade to wet their throats, accompanied by sweet local strawberries.

In the distance the countryside seemed to stretch forever, turning to forests before opening again onto green pastures no bigger than grains of barley, and blurring toward the horizon. It was hard to imagine this same land eventually becoming Exegol territory.

Kylo snuffled as he drowsed, with saddlebags bulging around bottles of the cider preferred by one Mr Charles Barker. He would be joining them for Rey’s coming birthday dinner, and Ben recounted happy memories as a boy of his father and godfather sneaking him sips.

The village square rendered in miniature far below became fodder for stories, for the pair set apart who soon appeared oblivious again to any others. They made each other laugh by creating colourful lives for the people they could see; Rey’s best being a bad tempered parish priest and an apple orchard rivalry, and Ben’s a romantic tale of an enemy brewer and baker turned sweethearts (this had her decrying the cruelty of fate, followed by a sigh of relief at his conclusion).

When together they exhausted all of Kitesthorp’s characters – and she their fruit punnet – he turned to pluck at the grass, tucking a daisy and a white clover bloom behind her ear. “Nature provides most apposite flowers. If only I had a honeysuckle sprig to go with them.”

The corners of Ben’s eyes crinkled in such a genuine way, while he dimpled rather devastatingly, that it did not lessen her difficulty since the lane of drawing her gaze from his mouth. With a contented hum he removed his hat and lay back, lacing his fingers over his waistcoat.

“I will consult Connix on floriography tomorrow, if you don’t elaborate.” Rey too reclined further upon hip and elbow, but with a moue of mock-annoyance. 

“Ah. Well please do so,” he enjoined, closing his eyes and looking smug. “I’m sure you will also hear all about the stable puppies whelped last fortnight. Mitaka told me Connix _strongly_ requested his attendance.”

As notable as was this titbit Rey could not focus upon it; Ben appeared so at peace like this, with dark lashes fanning his sun-pinked cheeks, broad chest rising and falling, that neither could she reconcile _this_ man with living a citified life at all.

“I don’t know how you would _ever_ wish to leave here as a home location!" He blinked back to attention at her exclamation and raised an eyebrow. “I like Falconwood such a great deal, it has none of the commotion of Theed and the air smells so very fine, but it’s not at all far for visiting. And you _cannot_ truly feel any city riding compares!”

Her reflections bubbled out more abruptly than any past tutoring could alter but Ben’s smile played on at his mouth nonetheless, and she very much wondered at his thoughts for he seemed to be suppressing laughter.

“Yet not _quite_ so fine as Varykino, I’ll venture. We will be welcome as often as we wish. In fact, my mother may bar the doors if she believes our trunks are being packed prematurely.”

At his words she snorted with some amusement, yet her hand also sought her stomach. The reminder of home, and of her recent unburdening to Finn, stirred conflict, and Rey was suddenly aware of even her riding corset’s easy compression. 

“We do both miss it here, Kylothius and I, but Theed is still dear to me. Even with my… laundered fur.” He lowered his voice to barely a whisper, “And living more of the year with my mother would drive the three of us to a dearth of charitable feeling in short order. They keep a very merry house in the game season so we’ll return, and Dameron and Sabreur will doubtless attend as well. I expect she’ll declare it mandatory now for all.”

Rey took a breath and rallied her smile… returning did sound lovely. "You know, regarding foxes, I was happy you wrote that you leave the poor creatures alone. I've never seen a hunt ride and never, ever wish to!"

"Ah yes, wouldn’t happen with my uncle. My mother also has strong views on the subject, which I share. I imagine the estate becomes a refuge for old Reynard, and it would have enraged the 10th Duke. As I believe is part of the appeal to his children.” Ben gave a sardonic twist of his mouth, further lowering her opinion of this infamous grandfather to whom he had so unjustly compared himself.

“Rey,” he added softly, “until I am able to show you Theed’s appeal, I again ask that you take my assurances that some exist in good faith.”

At once everything bore down too hot and stifling, and not only around her middle.

“There may be very few things there I do wish to see,” she retorted, the petulance in her tone annoying her own ears but his reminder and _reasonableness_ more so. Even, now, his confidence that they would dwell under one roof at all!

“Be that as it may I still do not wish to live most of my life in the city, and nor do I think Kira would enjoy long stabling there. I didn’t just write my denials out of antagonism!"

She huffed with some heat, wishing instead to sound the furthest thing from whining, or God forbid as if practicing to be a wife who _begged_ her husband. Never!

Ben gave a long sigh, staring up through the branches that creaked and rustled, sufficient to soften surrounding conversation. After an uneasy minute or more, he took her hand. "I’ve been giving this some thought. It certainly wouldn’t do now for the crucial parts of the horse breeding season.” He squeezed her fingers, his own warm and heedless of sticky remnants of strawberry.

“I couldn’t stand to see my nemesia wilting, too long amidst brick and concrete. We _will_ find a solution so you may flourish, something that suits us. Rey…” She met his eyes with a softened frown, seeing no deceit.

“I began so very poorly with you it shames me, but I swear I’ll not be a domestic tyrant. I _cherish_ your sportiveness. Do you think I could bear now to have you living most of your days _some great distance_ apart, as you wrote?"

Ben spoke as if this question alone had been a matter of pained consideration, and she began to tremble, her head to swim. Her whole body seemed to expand and lighten, as if the fist of some colossus had loosed its prolonged hold.

 _Oh_ , how deeply in truth Rey had feared intractable denials! For, as she whispered, “I… I do not think I could bear that now either.”

Ben started up onto his elbow, and clutched at her hand with both of his as spots of colour bloomed high upon his cheeks. Her grip in return had such force that he puffed out a surprised and slightly pained breath.

Seeming lighter too as they gazed at each other, he pressed his case, but sweetly. “Rey, I _do_ believe you would enjoy the regattas and horse races near Theed… the city’s many fine restaurants. Or days in lovely Richmond on the Solleu, visiting Kew Gardens and staying at the Star and Garter. The ladies’ lawn tennis championship in Wimbledon is only some ten miles from Grimtaash House...”

He trailed off with an endearing sort of cunning writ large upon his face, watchful as if he knew full well his latter morsel in particular would catch her interest.

Indeed it did a great deal, and Rey pondered his inducements (and the singular notion of arrangements to suit them _together_ ), until their return journey’s own brief race of four horses. Her attention thence turned to pelting the excessively triumphant, and now astonished, noble with cherry pits and several green crab-apples, that as usual she had ferreted away to pocket.

“What on earth else are you keeping in your habit, little corvid?”

“Be very certain you wish for an answer, Naberrie!” called Finn from a safer distance, in the manner of a man vividly remembering his friend’s past fascination with sun-bleached bird skulls.

Rey, who still concealed an interesting snail shell she thought he may like to send to Freddy, just laughed, and admired her intended’s coltish happiness.

As they neared the house her right leg began cramping around the top pommel, and she kneaded with the heel of her hand while repenting all recent neglect of the only saddle brought along for their journey.

Ben’s concern turned to poorly repressed mirth at this, for her perhaps overzealous interpretation of old promises to Luke about best behaviour and public decorum. But the vexing man mollified her by claiming great respect for the skill, which she gleefully agreed _he_ could never master.

“Can you imagine me, a vastness of bent leg and knee? Dear God,” Ben declared with a shudder. He extracted a promise that in future, with him, she would stick with her preferences, as was grand enough for the lady performers of the Nouveau Cirque. For as Rey told him, she felt a veritable centaur while astride in comparison, never to unwillingly part company with Kira’s back.

It was in very good humour, if famished and with shaky legs, that she freshened before the meal. Left to her own aesthetic devices and in greater confidence, she unpinned her chignon to let her plait hang long down her back.

Ben had warned her that the ladies of the house took great pride hosting their famed brunches, and Rey, wishing to dress well but be able to consume the proverbial equine, entered the dining room in a great deal of comfort.

Upon surveying the vast spread of silver chafing dishes groaning with choices upon the sideboards, she further esteemed her light ventilated corset and loosely belted, rust-red dress. Most delicious were the smoked herrings from Alderaan, and a highly spiced mutton curry with boiled rice that she had never encountered at Varykino.

(This dish she also blamed for her high colour, rather than Ben’s glances as she ate that were entirely too heated for table and especially for Luke’s discussion of glasshouses.)

* * *

The eavesdropping, at first, was accidental, while bearing a stout cushion and a book upon too quiet silk slippers, her destination being the garden.

Leia’s voice carried from the mauve sitting room, its door standing ajar, and to Rey’s credit she did pause to consider that this was hardly an invitation (and she far too old not to know she ought never to listen at door jambs).

“Aureylia is _quite_ a match for you, isn’t she? She will keep you on your toes and your brain at a gallop, we can _all_ see how smitten you are.”

Rey held her breath but no prevarication from Ben followed, instead a plain-spoken intimacy between mother and son. “Yes, she is. I could never have imagined such contentment possible, or that I would ever welcome my wedding day. And I perceive, mother, that you will play old Harry about it forevermore.”

At his mild tone erupted a chortle. “Certainly! Your father _often_ told me I never did learn to hold my tongue in triumph, and he was _entirely_ right. He would find this a tremendous joke of course, but he _so_ wished for your happiness, as I do…”

A soft, anguished choke sounded, and when Leia spoke again her voice trembled. “ _Oh_ _Benny_ , you have so much of his heart in you, I am so pleased you are letting us _see_ it again. That any of us _ever_ worried you could take after my father, I am _so_ sorry, oh I _cannot_ …”

Ben murmured something and there came rustles of fabric before more muffled sniffles, and Rey edged away from the door needing no sight to envisage the scene upon which she had intruded; a smaller, older woman enfolded by her son, and them both by grief and forgiveness.

Most of the day had been wonderful but at times frightening, between the conversations, the way Ben looked at her, and the terribly exposing moments of truly beginning to know someone. To which this now added. At least his honesty had not cut, and he and Leia had come together, far improving Rey’s last occasion in that furtive position.

Beneath a leafy apple tree laden with slowly ripening fruit she dozed with her book unopened, weighed down as equally by bittersweet thoughts as by the wanted but unnecessary wedge of pigeon pie.

Rey jerked into wakefulness some time later to a body settling carefully beside her. In his shirtsleeves with cuffs rolled back and puffiness at his cheeks, and holding his own boater for which he smoothed back her hair, to place it gently atop her head.

“You’ll burn sweetheart, if you nap uncovered out here.”

She blinked up at Ben with the shadow she earlier sought retreated from her face, pliant under the same sun now framing him and filtering through his dark locks. It rendered him angelic as it wrapped the strands in gold.

“So Hemera, this is how you become so beautifully touched by the light,” he rumbled, focussed as if committing her to memory.

“You’ve called me that several—” she stifled a yawn— “times now, my antiquarian…” It took Rey a sharp intake of breath from him to realise what her sleepy lips had revealed, and why his eyes gleamed and softened.

“ _Yes_.” An answer, she felt, to several things, and it seemed like something else teetered on the tip of his tongue. If so, he swallowed it, and his gaze darted away. “I wished I had my box-camera, seeing you here. Or one more hidden, to use at will. Perhaps a new pocket watch reconnaissance model,” he jested softly, “for a hat would hardly be useful indoors.”

Despite Ben’s levity something prickled insistently in the back of her consciousness, before receding beneath the relaxing sensation of him beginning to toy with stray tresses. He shifted nearer to share her pillow against the trunk, now deeply enraptured caressing her plait.

“You already have a photograph,” she muttered with a sleepy frown, giving over to his attentions and letting her head fall against his corded forearm. It seemed a great pity not to appreciate it.

“Oh I am very aware,” he agreed, “and no plates or even the new cellulose could capture the brilliance of your eyes and hair in this light. But I shall make an album of you, and remember the afternoon glow upon my Aureylia today in the old fashioned way.”

After occupying himself brushing the ribboned tail of her hair against his pinned hand and her merry cheek, to her surprise Ben murmured, “I really should thank my uncle for keeping you cloistered.”

“No no,” he disputed her scoff, “if he _had_ decided to present you at court for a proper season I should hate to be known as the man who revived duelling, to see off your suitors.”

Rey snorted and looked to confirm the smile in his voice, thence pinching and encircling his solid wrist with both hands. “Don’t even joke about that, I would spurn the barbarous lot of you.”

Strangely, the flare of discordant feeling she expected at Ben’s possessiveness never arose (and indeed, it occurred to her that she was discovering some of her own). Instead there swelled a heady sort of pride, and it was sweet he wished to believe there would be other gentlemen admirers of her eccentricities.

When Ben’s pulse quickened beneath her curious fingers and he bemoaned the diligence of the under-gardeners, she could not remember ever having resolved keeping distance from him.

Regrettably, tingles from his lips upon her own palm and wrist formed the extent of Rey’s further exploration of kissing, yet it felt to her as if two of the household had found blessings upon this Sunday after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading 💕
> 
> CW: mention of a death (Han’s) from an undisclosed short illness.
> 
> ***
> 
> Military-style (Hussar) braiding was popular on riding habit jackets [like this](https://pin.it/2BQ7DK9).
> 
> Kylo looks like this modern [Arabo-Friesian](https://pin.it/28myUaZ), which also shows some feathering (hairy socks). They’re gentle if energetic horses (& Kylo’s gonna Kylo 😤).
> 
> 13.5 (imperial) hundredweight = 685.8kg/1,511.9lb. Heavy for a non-draught horse (but not atypical for an Arabo-Friesian stud).
> 
> Seasonally Kira would likely be in oestrus, but horse behaviour is toned down because (alas?) Horny Stallion Fightclub & resulting fall-out is not the story I’m trying to write.
> 
> [A Victorian clothing ad](https://pin.it/NfRKazR) showing how a side-saddle is sat upon with modesty breeches under the skirt. Usually used with a cane (AKA a whip/crop) to cue in place of the rider’s right foot.
> 
> Regarding feeling independent with two stirrups, I’m paraphrasing [Emily Lowe writing in 1857](https://pin.it/7qaD5jq).
> 
> Ah [classical sex positions](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexuality_in_ancient_Rome#Mulier_equitans), the study of history has never been dull for Ben. _Mulier equitans_ – ‘woman on top’; popular in Roman art. 
> 
> _Amazone_ – horsewoman (French).
> 
> [Liver chestnut](https://pin.it/VhFAtjA) is a lovely rich chocolate coat.
> 
>  _Stable-mind_ – devoted to horses.
> 
>  _Rustication_ – suspension, especially from Oxford or Cambridge (vs. _sent down_ – expelled).
> 
>  _Fortuna Obsequens_ – an aspect of the goddess Fortuna, ‘fortune who indulges/yields’.
> 
> The Eiffel Tower being considered “[useless and monstrous](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eiffel_Tower#Artists'_protest)” by many for years never fails to amuse me. (Similar was said of my country’s tallest tower in the ‘90s; no new human reactions under the sun, etc.)
> 
>  _Daisy_ – true & pure love, innocence.
> 
>  _White clover_ – think of me.
> 
>  _Honeysuckle_ – devoted affection.
> 
> The [Star and Garter Hotel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_and_Garter_Hotel,_Richmond) was very large, highbrow & picturesque. [Lottie Dod](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lottie_Dod) was the strongest women’s Wimbledon player of the 1890s.
> 
> Feeling like a “veritable centaur” riding astride is courtesy of a letter received by [Mrs Power O’Donoghue in 1880](https://pin.it/1MTu9Lh).
> 
> [Isabelle Chinon](https://pin.it/2moJurL) (poster) & [Jeanne Grizolles](https://pin.it/1buTEZJ) (photo) were famous _amazones_ who performed astride in the upscale Parisian circus, Nouveau Cirque 🎪
> 
> Rey’s [ventilated/summer corset](https://pin.it/70ufnxZ) & [red crêpe de chine aesthetic dress](https://pin.it/6O97NZe) with a high neck. (A riding corset in comparison has a shorter busk & higher hips, for ease of sitting.)
> 
>  _Play old Harry_ – make mischief (like the Devil 😈), tease.
> 
> Hidden cameras were a bit of a fad from the late 1880s. [Pocket watches](https://pin.it/28S9pFU), [hats](https://pin.it/2jJkPmV), [vests](https://pin.it/18fDjmY), [books](https://pin.it/1DvhLma), etc. Not especially subtle by our standards, but we’re accustomed to being aware of everyday photography. ([This one](https://pin.it/2XLiX4B) actually advertises it’s good for blackmail, so if they also sound creepy… yes.)


	8. A Significant Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Miss Aureylia Nemesia reaches her majority but does not alter her lively habits; Ben asks a very important question; there is always room for cake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been New Zealand's main summer holidays and I have not so far become sunburnt while kayaking; a shocking success.

The water of the millpond slid cool and refreshing against Rey’s bare limbs. Pushing off from the silty bottom she swam her third circuit in an easy breast-stroke, passing by the motionless wheel and softly gurgling spillway, and back to the bank where lay her haphazardly discarded outer garments. The pond would make a topping skating rink in winter.

It had been a relaxed and companionable week at Falconwood Park so far, each day spent in the pleasures of company – albeit constant, and occasionally too much – as well as generous meals, walking, and morning rides.

To her greatest happiness was what continued to grow between her and Ben, now so carefully watered and encouraged toward the sun by the gentleman himself. (Who, to use Kaydel’s assessment of the situation, “Has had his head turned so far ‘round by you he can see what an arse he’s been behind him, Miss Aureylia.”)

If she could reverse the clock Rey felt she would now be able to reassure her younger, more idealistic self that this matter would eventually turn out far better than the _tolerable_ she had once penned to her intended.

She had awoken nineteen to a sunny morning without cloud, both the same in her majority yet somehow different, and after sticky, rumpled dreams of nervous anticipation for her marriage bed. Not for the first time of late.

To a note as well in Ben’s fine hand, alongside a nosegay of fragrant honeysuckle Kaydel had observed him picking (this before a flurry of weighted exercise upon the terrace, sadly while his lady slumbered).

“ _Devoted affection_ ,” Kaydel had reiterated as Rey sucked sweet nectar from a pale flute, setting her heart to a tattoo and her insides to flip.

❈

_Mellilla_ ,

_O fortunatum orbem nata te_ , may your natal day bring just as much joy and laughter as you do. It is my greatest hope that all surprises today are sweet and welcome, and may this occasion be followed by at least four-score and one others. I will await you at the breakfast table – with breath so bated dear old Goldenrod is bound to press sal volatile upon me – so I may tell you again and again in person until you wish me mute.

Your much-altered, vulpine votary.

❈

Kira had received her lady’s newfound womanhood with marked indifference when Rey slipped into the stables for carrots, one-sided conversation, and to braid her mane.

Kylothius proved more animated a listener, although whether his responses to Rey’s hopes regarding his master were encouragement or critique remained open for interpretation.

While thankful to be surrounded by the household’s laudatory regard she had been left to her own devices less frequently in recent days, so ended up in the library after their ride for a quiet moment. There she found Finn with a tome on advanced quadratics and similar designs on solitude, and, drawn by her love of maps to the estate’s illustrated charts, she at once had a plan for respite before the evening’s greater social engagement.

Here, the silent mill and a snoozing Kira were her only observers.

Rey bobbed, restful with the sun upon her cheeks and her shoulders below the water, watching the light dapple its surface and the heart-shaped couplings of dragonflies, droning above. Before a happy whicker from her mare made her turn.

On the path through the trees strode Ben, leading Kylo, with a jacket slung jaunty over his shoulder. Yet as he neared his tightened features betrayed a pensive distraction, and his hair lay dishevelled.

“What ho! Sabreur told me you might be found— _Hell!_ ”

For a moment his eyebrows matched his oath as he took her in, before a bark of laughter washed all tension from his expression.

“I apologise for my coarse language, but what the devil are you doing birthday girl?”

“Swimming, what does it look like?” Rey returned, poking out a pert tongue.

“Foolish question, I suppose. Well I’m glad you are able. Now I understand why he found it so amusing to tell me you wished to visit the millpond.”

Rey chortled while he tethered Kylo and patted Kira’s coppery withers, who repaid the stallion’s nuzzling in kind.

The cautious common ground between two of her life’s important men further buoyed her; owed to the effort of one, and the understanding of the other that, as he put it, he deserved some continued disapprobation, but intended his actions to show he would not forever.

“Finn taught me,” she offered, “for his father taught him. We swam a lot as children before he started spending his terms in Theed for school.”

“You _were_ a wild little thing, weren’t you? How were you bribed to behave yourself those times I met you,” Ben wondered, shaking his head between chuckles. “Would that I could have seen the trouble I expect you gave your dancing instructor and the rest. It’s a marvel you were at all domesticated, with my uncle so distractible.”

Rey pursed her lips in mischief and made no contradiction on any count, for these allegations held a great deal of truth.

“Well, that last time you visited it was more that I was overawed. You were very… large and brooding, and rather turned my girlish head. Perhaps I’d been reading too many stirring novels about ill-tempered heroes.”

Ben shook with mirth, but nonetheless widened his grin.

“It’s exceptionally nice in here, by the way,” she pressed, swimming nearer. “ _So_ invigorating, and the sun is _very_ hot…”

“I’m sure it is, you little green-eyed river nymph.”

“You… could join me. The cool water feels delicious upon my skin.”

Where this boldness came from Rey could not say. Perhaps it simply owed to being of age at last, and in her element outdoors. Having spent too little time alone with him of late hardly helped, and moreover she felt that of the two of them (and despite her under-dressed state, or perhaps because of it) she had the upper hand. An enjoyable sensation.

A very pleasant mental image formed of Ben’s towering, broad form in drenched undervest and drawers. How it might cling to his thighs… yes, _quite_ heroic.

The object of her whimsies busied himself in righting her boots and folding her blouse, before speaking in a low, stilted tone. “I do not think that wise.”

“Possibly not. But it could be fun, dearest Benvolio…”

He stood sharply, exhaling through his nostrils rather alike to his stallion in an ill-humour. “That’s quite enough and no more of _that_ epithet again my comely tease. I’m afraid even you will have to wear rather more clothing when I take you sea bathing, they’re not so free as all this on the Southern Chandrilan coast.”

“I’ve seen _many_ illustrations of the ocean!” Rey swam fast in a circle, imagining the delight of brine and waves all about her and kicking her feet enough that he leapt back. 

“You’ll be quite the mermaid. Are you going to come out of there soon? You’ll prune, and… and watching you is somewhat torturous,” Ben entreated, muttering the last part under his breath.

“Too late, I assure you I am already waterlogged.”

Rey considered for several tumultuous seconds before inhaling and screwing her flirtation to the sticking place. She walked out of the millpond with streams of rivulets flowing from her, brazen as any true fluvial spirit.

Regardless, she contended this still less dramatic than his widening eyes and the throaty sort of whine he emitted as they traced the soaked cotton clinging to her skin, whereupon his focus darted between her pebbled nipples and that most secret, shadowed triangle between her legs, now so very near.

A protracted moment passed thus, unabashed, before Ben roused himself and offered his back and a sharp grunt both, steadying himself at Kylo’s bridle.

“I’m astonished you turn away my lord,” she baited, perhaps cruelly for he fumbled at one of his saddlebags and cursed the buckle.

“I turn away, you minx, so I am less tempted to green your gown like some common beast of the field.” His voice came muffled as if through gritted teeth, one hand white at the knuckles upon his stirrup leathers.

Rey giggled, taking his proffered flannel blanket as a towel. “Do you wish you had your box-camera again? I would pose for you.”

“What was your plan to dry yourself?” he diverted weakly, speaking toward the trees from whence he came, and with erratic breaths while she rubbed herself down and wriggled into her divided skirts.

“Oh none at all.” Rey considered whether imparting more might overset him, but gambled the risk acceptable. “I expect I would dry off in my blouse, or lie in the warm grass before dressing until I did. Usually I’d swim in the altogether as my favourite spot on the Sabé is very secluded. But best to _behave myself_ here, you know.”

She bit back a more strident laugh. “Connix cannot be too irritated with the state of these old combinations on my birthday, and my hair is perfectly dry!”

“ _Bare_?” Ben croaked, his mind catching his ears like a waterwheel taking time to fill and turn beneath an opened sluice.

“Yes it has the greatest freedom of movement, and is also my best chance of avoiding laundry suspicions. Don’t you tell me it is too immodest, I am quite aware.”

“Bare, or—or sunning yourself in your wet, white undergarments. The ancient Cyprians have met their match…” he trailed off, sounding rather distant.

“Rey I must insist upon accompanying your future outdoor bathing, at least to stand sentry.”

“Not to observe or join?”

“I did not say that. I’m merely selfish over the view and lightheaded at the thought.”

She hummed to herself and exclaimed what bubbled into her mind. “I shall consider it, for I think I should feel quite the same way. You are far too handsome for me to be generous over. A regular… double-breasted water-butt smasher!”

The so-designated noble dipped his head, still turned away, and huffed out, “By your low cant you have been speaking too long with Dameron,” but she caught the side of his delighted smile nonetheless.

* * *

On the grassy bank Rey throned herself upon a tussock so their heads fell nearly level, she in the sun and Ben preferring shade. He gazed with unfocussed eyes over the glassy millpond, and his manner of rolling a blade of grass between his hands put her in mind of prayer.

Against her warming skin her garments dried quickly and with little fanfare, for he remained far more circumspect than expected in snatching glances at the translucent patches of her blouse.

The pleasant lethargy particular to sultry weather by a body of water enveloped her, but in this too Ben diverged; his back curved down over splayed knees not in relaxation but taut as any bow, with the manner of someone slowly drawing into speech.

“The first time you laughed for me alone Rey… I felt my heart had skipped two beats. By the Grimtaash main staircase, I’ll always remember it.” Ben looked sideways at her, drawing a little out of his shadow as he did, and she ducked her head to her hugged knees.

“I would say that since that visit,” he continued in greater hesitance, “we… have come to be fond of each other, and… and to be friends. A great deal on my part. My efforts at courting you a touch more to the customary manner seem to have been… well received.”

“Yes Ben, I say so too,” Rey agreed without being able to hold back a soft snort. “We have become _firm_ friends.”

But she also turned an encouraging smile his way, biting down further impatience. Some part of his intended discussion clearly caused him apprehension.

“Good. _Good_ , I’m so very glad, for I feel no one before you has truly known the various parts of me as one whole, yet—”

“I do! Or I am coming to, I think, as you do likewise,” she interrupted with a fluttering stomach, and bumped his arm with her shoulder.

“Yes, there was… a piece missing to my life’s puzzle, before I came to know you. From that first dinner I could see you would be the most categorical _somebody_ I have ever met. I have had the greatest fear you would only ever tolerate me and I had engendered such tragedy for myself. God, I— that would be agony indeed Rey, when I— just _agony_.”

She fixed her attention on the dragonflies vying to pair, her whole face tingling. “I was very angry at you for several years. But no longer, I assure you. You have completed your labours. Shall I grow my stable from your theft of Diomedes’ mares? What fine bloodstock I’ll have.”

This jesting no less revealed her feelings, and met relief and humour upon Ben’s face when she chanced to look again.

“Only the best for my Hemera, you will feed them far more appropriately. Well, I sought you here to speak with you privately, and—” he gave a shaky exhale, grave again, and bent his piece of grass upon itself before changing tack.

“There will be some whispering about you from the _ton_ , regarding my past behaviour. I expect some… some assumptions about my future marital conduct as well, for a time. I will never go back to my old ways Rey, I _could_ never, but they won’t know that. I cannot regret more that it may cause you pain, but there it is.”

Rey’s neck prickled and she crumpled the maroon seersucker about her legs with forceful fingers. Past perusal of the society pages had, since her Theed outing, crystallised into understanding that gossip indeed served as everyday trade. In addition to some thinking her a parvenu, she imagined pity or perhaps humour once learning of the ward married off to the known bounder.

Formerly such reactions would have had ample future material, yet now the idea aroused indignance. Ben was no longer that man, and she would wed someone gentle and considerate who sought her with his gaze and conversation in every moment in which she was present.

“I know everything I need to know about you so the church-bells can hold their clappers!” she retorted, grinding a vicious heel into the tussock. “I _don’t_ care. Leia impressed upon me that my role will _not_ require persistent simpering in drawing rooms anyway, thank God. She named several notable matrons to avoid.”

Ben had turned to her with mouth ajar, which he snapped closed now with a huff and rapid blinking. “Thank you,” he rasped, “I… as long as I am with you I feel I am on the path meant for me. Do take my mother’s advice, it will be sound.”

He extended a halting hand but Rey elected to grasp his arm and tug herself yet closer, lacing their fingers together with determined purpose. At this his sigh held a far more welcome timbre, and they sat in such easy quiet it took little time for her storm clouds to lift.

“Well,” Ben cleared his throat with a matched tremor in his hand, “now that unpleasant matter has been bared open, I shall— I shall speak to my objective.”

In a sudden, alarming burst he pulled her with him to her feet, fervently clasping both her hands and near to staring her down. “Rey, I feel that from the very moment you allowed me to see your inner fire—”

“The moment I gave you a set down?” Her pulse ticked up in strange anticipation, and a slyness entered her smile despite the lingering surprise.

“Yes, exactly that. Now I am trying to be sweet although my stomach riots, so allow me to finish before it bests me.

“From that moment my heart caught fast and I could see only you. Before long this became hopeful visions as I had never had, so solid and clear, of a future shaped for us by affection and understanding.

“Aureylia. I love you, _all_ that you are. These are words I never thought to say before I came to know you, yet now I must.”

In truth it was no easy matter to perceive Ben’s addresses above her heart beating in her ears, but she could not mistake the rising emotion in his voice and nor him dropping to bent knee, with his eyes wide and in some measure afraid as he fumbled for his discarded jacket and removed a small box.

“You are of age today, so will you do me the honour of agreeing to be my wife, and formally fix our engagement? _Please_. Make me the happiest of all men.”

Perhaps it appeared strange that Rey trembled so, at a proposal when others had long decided their union as certain. Yet his present gesture shocked her for this exact reason, and her heart felt near to bursting free and flying away.

Surely she would never find words equal to her appreciation that Ben asked _her_ , rather than assuming it a triviality that did not need doing. This could speak of nothing else but his desire for a true partner, for a wife as his equal rather than obedient helpmate.

The young woman’s reeling wits clung to the one piece of his speech that mattered most: he loved her, taking her as she was in habits and temperament.

“You _love_ me?” She squeezed her clammy hands at his.

“I do. You have illuminated my life in this short time and I expect measureless happiness more. How could I feel otherwise with your brilliant mind, your magnificent heart?”

Through blurred vision she realised he was still on one knee and probably uncomfortable, looking increasingly apprehensive through her silent evaluations for a reply.

A wet laugh burbled out of her. “ _Yes_.”

Such a simple response found their dual relief, for Rey knew herself far too overwhelmed to also try to tease out and vocalise her own feelings beyond this single, significant word.

Ben slid the ring onto her callused finger set to the distant bellows of cattle, with a shaking hand and the brightest countenance she had ever seen upon him. He wrapped his arms tightly about her middle and pressed his head to the soft hollow beneath her breasts, rubbing his cheek against the damp cambric with both elation and a disbelieving sort of choke. As if for the unlikelihood she wanted him for more than obligation.

Yet doing so felt so very natural and right that Rey too now welcomed their wedding day, as only one could who for several years forbade herself to hope for anything as foolish as husbandly declarations of love upon the occasion. This, and his heartfelt joy, comprised all she wished to consider in the present moment.

She saw beginnings and futures in Ben’s glistening eyes as he stood and spun her, clasped in his arms with the sun above mirrored in both their expressions, and so many possibilities stretched out before them as an ever-moving current.

Soon his threatened tears spilled over and he peppered her forehead and wet cheeks with kisses, thence bestowing these soft devotions to both eyelids before meeting her lips with his. Rey’s second kiss surpassed her first in every degree, being in such profound happiness.

This turned more insistent as he drew her down to green her blouse in some way after all, and she, likewise greedy and after wiping at his tears with her fingers, found his hair as silken against them as long suspected while he panted and pawed at her waist.

Yet no sooner had the region between her thighs grown very damp again than the impatient whinnies and stomping of their company grew too great to ignore, with Kylo in clear ardour aforethought of pulling away his reins to take similar active opportunity at courting Kira.

Her discountenanced fiancé adjusted his trousered prominence repeatedly in his saddle, giving clipped replies in a tight voice for several minutes on their journey back to the house.

* * *

Under the unblinking eyes of generations of Skywalkers the couple strolled the long portrait gallery, unwilling to let flesh and blood others into their happy bubble so soon.

Rey picked up her fresh skirts and raced the length with Ben laughing behind, before he began to introduce her to his relations as an incoming member, and divulge their private business. Whether a familiar face from Varykino’s great chamber or new.

The imposing 9th holder of the title, Quintillus Gonville Skywalker, looked a jovial sort and by accounts his disposition had matched, so too his wife Bathsheba in flowing, high-waisted silks with a beatific smile (better known in the family as Shmi, after her youngest sister’s pronunciation woes).

Little was said of Anakin Erasmus Skywalker the 10th Duke – Marquess of Naberrie, Baron Vaderburg – but for an unneeded warning to avoid the subject with Leia. Perhaps their own children would be able to speak more easily of his exploits, with another generation’s distance.

In contrast Ben regaled her at length before a portrait of the Duchess, Padmé Lucrece, then in her middle-age in a wide crinoline gown. Rey had always judged her face as kind if somewhat sad, and could imagine the beloved grandmother – still lavishly bejewelled – doting upon her grandson during her final years spent at Falconwood.

“She had many beautiful pieces you will wear if you wish.” Her soon-to-be husband rubbed his thumb over her ring with a dreamy smile, before it twisted down at the corners. “Hocked several too thanks to my grandfather, to her enduring shame. Which is— I wanted something new for your thoroughly modern sentiments, and without any memories of past marriages.”

His choice could not have been more perfect, nor stunning, as she informed him again: a large, round diamond set in platinum and encircled by smaller kin, like a flower upon an engraved, filigree band of sunny gold.

The Miss Nemesia of several weeks ago may have considered it showy, but recently some extra ornamentation had found more welcome place in her life after all. His conspiracy with his Grimtaash staff to measure her glove also impressed her.

They paused again beneath a portrait of Ben’s parents, proud in their wedding finery, for the tale of Leia’s vocal dislike turned affection for the roguish importer of cloth and spirits. The untitled match had been considered more favourably by her father thanks to Mr Solo’s prosperity.

Their parallel inauspicious beginning amused Rey and their many happy years together heartened her, but she also now knew why Leia held such strong opinions on who of the _ton_ were its most unpleasant busybodies.

Ben sighed and guided her back to his front, wrapping his solid arms about her shoulders. “Some lads teased me at school with rumours of my father’s less reputable trading. There was truth to them, he and Mr Barker. But if Dameron ever got wind of it he walloped the blighters.”

“Good! I shall thank him.”

“No need to be aggrieved now, sweet Nemesis.” Rey disagreed, but squeezed his forearm. “My mother obtained my father membership to the Worshipful Company of Mercers but it never reformed him. Truly… yes, I was the greatest hypocrite in my early judgment of you, him having also been a foundling, in Corellia.”

Her flash of anger concurred but she forbore to censure a settled matter, and moreover for the catch in his voice throughout speaking of his father. Instead she tilted her head that he might kiss her temple, and he left his lips resting there with warm, mollifying breaths against her skin, swaying them gently from side to side.

Mr Solo knew their simpatico early circumstances when he was so kind to her, Rey realised, and she dearly wished she could have known him better.

An infant Ben upon a rocking horse made for sweet contemplation – frocked in frilled white with a head of long, dark curls – but for the painting beside it she broke away and clapped her hands in untrammelled delight.

"Oh this one, oh it is my favourite!"

"Ah yes," the grown gentleman drawled, fussing with some hair below his temple, "my mother has rather a passion for portraits, so commemorated my breeching… and first haircut."

Ben’s pitcher ears and the little sword upon his belt were darling, and she had noted the scowling patriarch further behind them who seemed responsible for the former; his powdered and pigtailed periwig offered too slight concealment.

Next came the youth with his parents, uncle and grandmother, preceding another of just the three where he already matched his father in height. The most recent depicted Leia at her piano with Aunt Amilyn leaning alongside.

Rey considered their own wedding portrait in the near future and becoming one of these commemorated faces (yet not as the first soul here of humbler origins). The gravity of it did not unnerve her half as much as the idea of sitting very still for long periods, for it had been onerous enough for those miniatures commissioned by the portrait-shy Duke.

* * *

A square-necked, Pre-Raphaelite gown of white shot silk comprised the ensemble for her dinner of honour, accented by a short but heavily embroidered train.

After a generous hand with the honeysuckle _eau de toilette_ , Kaydel, still pleased as Punch, had pinned Rey’s hair in loose curls to tumble about her nape in complement, woven through with gold ribbon and the tourmaline brooch positioned as a tiara.

“Well aren’t you simply the jammiest bit of jam?” Ben stepped closer in the hall, looking rather like he did mean to spread her upon toast. “A vision I would purchase from the _Salon du Ryloth_ at any price to hang in my private chambers.”

“Quite nonpareil,” Leia agreed archly as she glided by, and Rey flushed at his ribaldry overheard, and by whom.

“Boorish man.”

“One of my finer qualities. But I have not forgotten you parading out of the water without so much as a by-your-leave. Now, is this a new dress and did you choose the apple blossoms?”

“It is. I desired embroidery but the selection is Connix’s domain of course.”

Her fiancé hummed in a secretive way, fingering the dense silk stitches upon a cuff. “They tell me— for I have decided this is all for my eyes alone— _I prefer you above all_ and _the promise of better things ahead_.”

“Oh! Well…” Rey gazed up at him, returning an unsteady smile. “In that case I would say she was quite prophetic, for… for you _do_ please me in ways I think others could not.”

“ _My love_ ,” Ben uttered in such reverence an anxiety kindled within her; a feeling of having exposed herself, of being _seen_ , and confusion reared again.

She wished to nurse her recent favourable emotions, but these fragile things also teetered at the lip of some fissure of fear that had, she now thought, in certain measures always been present, for all she little understood why or how deep it might run.

How did Ben know to put a name to his sentiments as if it were no difficult matter to present her with his heart, and trust her to keep it? How ever would she know the same?

Rey mustered a deep breath in and released it, raising her hand with its new weight to detect the steady thud beneath his waistcoat’s gold threads. Although without answers she found her centre against his rhythm, and a salve for the far too pressing moment.

As if by reflex a large thumb began idle passes over her knuckles, beneath the quizzical bent of his brow, but when he spoke it was to lead away from her inner quagmire rather than push.

“I’m more than a little afraid of my own wardrobe soon coming under the eye of the formidable Connix. Mitaka’s a sainted man but he could never bear up against her.”

The softening of Rey’s shoulders belied her acerbic parry. “ _You’ve_ no need to worry, you’re in her good graces especially after today. It’s half my wardrobe she wishes to burn. She’s more likely to entreat you to knock relish dishes onto my lap at opportune moments.”

“Ah, hard cheese for her then with my classical inclinations. And she may not remain in sympathy with me,” he added enigmatically, offering both an arm for the drawing room and a dimpled smirk.

* * *

Ten gathered at table for her birthday dinner.

Mr Charles Barker gained Rey’s favour so directly – for she found his rare, growled observations both astute and affable – as to withhold all judgment of the immense moustache and beard occluding his mouth and much of his very tanned face. Moreover, she now felt well-disposed toward towering men.

Miss Greer Sonnel had once been mentored by Headmistress Holdo during study abroad, and likewise enjoyed a quick wit. She had the coppery skin of her native Pamarthen Commonwealth, and a position for that authority in translation necessitating wide-ranging travel, to Rey’s immediate interest.

Dame Harter Kalonia practised in Theed as a renowned obstetrician, whence followed her royal commendation. Her love of a joke explained her long friendship with Leia but contradicted her stern and somewhat parchment-like, greying appearance in austere tailoring.

If the guests thought it odd they had never before met Aureylia – or as she came to realise with some small embarrassment, in the ladies’ cases even heard of her – they all possessed delicacy enough to not make her feel awkward for the Duke and his sister’s idiosyncrasies.

Lady Leia exceeded her son in sparing no formality in courses, and Rey over-indulged on salmon in a caper sauce before even encountering the larded venison _relevé_ , bagged by Finn and Poe at the beginning of their stay.

Thus she toyed with her glass of tomato aspic when a ruddy-faced Luke stood and thrice cleared his throat, raising a tottery wine goblet.

“Now I am no eminent rhetor so I will be brief. Tonight we celebrate Aureylia attaining her majority. Her nineteenth growing season, and a very fruitful one it has been.” She fidgeted beneath the attention and laughed with the others, in tandem.

“I remember the day she was born as if it were yesterday, love her as my own, and wish her ever more health and happiness. That is all.”

He blinked rapidly while he toasted her before sitting heavily once more, and Rey swallowed her gulp of champagne with a constricted throat at this uncharacteristic display of emotion, mouthing her thanks down the table.

Ben promptly sought her gaze and clasped her shoulder, rising as well.

“Before we proceed to a certain confection I have one further announcement. Aside from again wishing Aureylia blessings for this happy day, which I believe it has been.” She nodded eagerly amidst noises of agreement.

“The most marvellous woman I have ever met will each year become more so, I have no doubt. As some of you know we have long been betrothed. To others, this may be news that I beg you receive in mind of my family’s innumerable eccentric attitudes.”

Amusement rippled around the table, although Luke seemed set to interject until Leia stayed him with a firm hand.

“Yet we are two rather opinionated people, so have taken the time to come to know one another. In truth, being a very self-important sort of man I preferred Rey’s affections freely given, and set about to gain them. So there can be no more fortunate soul in the kingdom than I to announce that Aureylia— my darling, bricky little Rey— has today confirmed her own self-same desire to be my wife.”

Ben lifted her be-ringed hand in pride toward the joyful group, several of whom had already remarked upon it but cooed again regardless. Finn in particular sent her a look restating his deep relief that the matter had thus resolved, and Poe (who had guffawed in the drawing room at her gratitude for his boyhood fists) tilted his glass with a grin.

“However,” her fiancé added in a wry tone, “I will be incandescently happier still if the banns can begin to be read _before_ the month is out.”

This elicited knowing titters, the Duke’s widening eyes, a roar of laughter from Mr Barker and a pointed incline of Dame Harter’s head, but Ben frowned at the glass in his hand in no great awareness until a footman darted forward to refill it.

“Ah, good man. Now: to Aureylia!”

The assemblage took wine and elevated their voices in shouts of _bravo!_ Ben regarded her upturned face with crinkling eyes, flushed as she was in delight and several other emotions at his willingness to declared himself for her so openly.

But she also caught a further glimmer of some strange agitation that had been passing between Luke and Leia, despite knowing their pleasure at the now willing match.

Thruppence shuffled stiff-legged through the servery doorway bearing a substantial ornamented cake, piped in flourishes with _Joyous Wishes Aureylia_ and nineteen small candles around.

To these she turned her attention and a single lungful, upon a wish for further understanding and continued happiness, and Ben had partaken of more than enough wine to steal a forehead kiss during the applause (pausing to breathe her in as well, she fancied by reason of his soft groan).

Leia appointed herself gift-bearer as cake passed around, from the side table laden not with dishes but presents – far more than usual – which Rey had striven, for the sake of good manners, to ignore throughout the meal.

From the guests came boxed sweetmeats and a bottle of some kind of nostril-searing Corellian spirit, evoking scandalised reactions from both Ben and the Duke to its giver. Rey set it aside with watering eyes, unsampled.

Aunt Amilyn had found for her an exquisite evening bag with the carved clasp as two horse heads, thereafter Luke bestowed a box camera of her very own upon the delighted young woman, as well as a copy of _Every Man His Own Horse Doctor_ promising three-hundred anatomical and surgical illustrations.

Further books followed from Finn and Poe, including, to their pronounced amusement, the latest edition of _Beeton’s Household Management_. This prank rather went awry however when she discovered it too contained a large section on the stables.

Notwithstanding such generosities, it was Leia’s gift that astounded her.

Rey opened the large, red velvet case slowly in her lap, gawping at its contents and up to the knowing faces of the table’s Skywalkers.

A full parure of emeralds lay before her, each stone clustered with diamonds and more diamond flourishes between. She traced a trembling fingertip over the necklace, drop earrings and ring. Upon the two bracelets and brooch, and the tiara and comb frames to which they could clip.

“Oh _Leia_ ,” Rey at length gasped, “but these are so—”

“But nothing. I have had these earmarked for you for _many_ years, with your striking eyes growing only more _like_ as you aged. I do not look so well in emeralds.” She patted her own sapphire and diamond bracelet, above a sapphire ring.

“My mother was the last to truly do them justice and it will be lovely to have them _worn_ again. The next Lady Naberrie must begin with a grand set, she would have been the _first_ to tell you so.”

Leia pressed a kiss onto Rey’s cheek, who, after such a day, welled up in earnest and pulled her in for a swift hug.

Over a touch more reinforcing champagne Rey took a moment to read the tidings and well-wishes of the letter remaining, running her hand along the cool, verdant gems now beneath her throat.

The inventors’ voice modulators were completed and already selling fast, so Jannah had torn Rose from her work. Thus their mechano-pigeon had been flung out a train window bound for the Chandrilan border, at the commencement of a one and a half month trip to visit their families.

Rose reported that although the first class carriages were very nice and the food excellent, she was sure the engine sounded like it could use fine tuning.

They had brought with them a prototype travelling mechano-receiver so bade her maintain correspondence to test its reach, and furthermore, in light of her recent communication that matters with Ben trended very favourably, they restated her duty to science – or at least to them – to report any suggested improvements to their sponge design.

Rey did not allow anyone else to read the letter.

As she tucked the envelope safely away another more ornately labelled appeared over her shoulder, whereupon its courier retook his seat.

“Now my flower, my birthday oblation to you cannot be here in actuality because Grimtaash will take delivery when complete, but the company produced an illustration for you.”

Rey cast him a curious look before she extracted the colourful image marked _Harrod’s Stores_ , and emitted a squeal.

“A bicycle!”

Of the most modern design with pneumatic rubber tyres and graceful, shining curves of black and gold, as well as a bell and a leather seat stitched with the letter A.

Ever since witnessing Rose and Jannah cannibalise their decrepit, unsatisfactory models for parts she had wished to bicycle, and several belly laughs and grins erupted when she gripped Ben’s bicep with fervent eyes (before reminding _herself_ now that they lacked privacy).

“I rather fancy you as a velocipedestrienne, speeding about,” declared the delighted gentleman. “We’ll go to their practice track across the Solleu at Barnes first, I think.”

Concern passed over his face for a second, knowing Rey well enough by now to have cause, but her excitement remained too great to soothe it a whit.

“I’m going to become even more of a shocking quiz than I already am, you do realise.”

“Oh quite indubitably. I cannot imagine what you will end up collecting in your pockets on outings, but I look forward to finding out.”

Luke gave a huff. “Yes, I can see her zipping off and gaily tumbling over a hummock. Good Lord, I’ll have to be careful my resident master-minds don’t affix some terrifying _improvement_.”

“Warning against it will encourage them,” cautioned Finn with a chuckle.

“I’ve an idea to get one for myself,” asserted Leia, and Aunt Amilyn’s eyes twinkled with promise.

“You’ll all get bicycle face,” rumbled Mr Barker, but only to stir laughter. Leia riposted that she already had _resting_ bicycle face thank _you_ very much, after which the ladies all fell into intent consultation with Miss Sonnel, a dedicated wheelwoman.

“I imagine a risk to bicycling in skirts,” Rey mused, digging her fork anew into the remnants of her rather too fulsome slice of chocolate and cherry birthday cake. The company sat in casual chatter with madeira as the dinner wound down.

Ben raised a brow but at her utensil rather than words, having noticed her flagging vigour at table during the roast pullets.

“ _Veni, vidi, voravi_ ,” she retorted through a mouthful, not to be bested by patisserie nor digestion nor undergarments.

“Indeed, and well you should.” Tenderness curved at his lips, and his eyes sparkled. “It’s my business now to see you sweet-tempered, which I conclude repletion must aid. As to your surmise, you’ll have great fun ordering knickerbocker ensembles I don’t doubt, and—”

“So _that’s_ why you may provoke Connix: abetting me!” Rey interjected, and clapped her napkin to her mouth to cease further crumbs. “She _loathes_ rational costume.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely comments recently have been so encouraging, thank you 💕
> 
> CW: very light drunkenness, mention of future children. (As always let me know if I miss something.)
> 
> ***
> 
> _Mellilla_ – little honey, little sweetheart 🍯 An ancient Roman endearment.
> 
> _O fortunatum orbem nata te_ – Oh happy world that you were born.
> 
> _Green gown_ – sex outdoors, i.e. to stain clothing by rolling in the grass. Often but not always with an association of virginity loss.
> 
> _The altogether_ – nude. (Brand new slang of the 1890s).
> 
> _Cyprian_ – relating to erotic rituals for Aphrodite on her island of birth. The English were very taken with the idea of devotees dampening their sheer chitons & frolicking about. (Term became associated with sex work & sex/licentiousness e.g. _Cyprian arbour_ – vagina, _Cyprian sceptre_ – penis.)
> 
> _Double-breasted water-butt smasher_ – having big ol’ pecs, a brawny athlete. (“The perfect Victorian Swolo phrase doesn’t exi—")
> 
> Hercules stole the flesh-eating mares of Diomedes for his [8th task](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labours_of_Hercules#Eighth:_Mares_of_Diomedes) of atonement.
> 
> _Church-bell_ – a gossiper.
> 
> What might [Shmi](https://pin.it/3GHDPuO) and [Padmé’s](https://pin.it/6YklBs2) portrait attire look like?
> 
> Rey’s very modern (for the 1890s) Art Nouveau [engagement](https://pin.it/3IBeVHv) ring [inspirations](https://pin.it/1LsFw60) 💍
> 
> [The Worshipful Company of Mercers](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Worshipful_Company_of_Mercers), of London since 1394.
> 
> Breeching: in Europe boys and girls were dressed near indistinguishably in frocks (see: [Victorian boy 1871](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:A173_1_047Michael_Cahne_Seymour.jpg)) until boys were breeched (first dressed in breeches/knickerbockers or trousers). The age of this had lowered by the mid 1800s, but ~4-7 years old. In the 1950s toddler boys often still wore dresses (as in some of my own family photos).
> 
> Rey’s Aesthetic/Reform birthday gown [looks like this](https://pin.it/itEl3QF), with modifications of colour, no neck insert, fancier embroidery, train. (& [the portrait](https://pin.it/5cnd7p9) its owner actually wore it in).
> 
> _Jammiest bit of jam_ – perfect & desirable young woman.
> 
> _Bricky_ – plucky, fearless 💪
> 
> [_Every Man His Own Horse Doctor_](https://books.google.co.nz/books/about/Every_Man_His_Own_Horse_Doctor.html?id=wztEAQAAMAAJ&redir_esc=y) _: In Which Is Embodied Blaine’s Veterinary Art: With Numerous Recipes, Steel Plates, and Upwards of Three Hundred Practical Anatomical, and Surgical Illustrations._ (1894)
> 
> [The necklace](https://pin.it/15UVsEx) of the Skywalker emerald suite 💎
> 
> The 1890s were known as one of the ‘bicycle boom’ periods. This [1898 women’s safety bicycle](https://pin.it/65QTxz0) (with a step-through frame for skirts) looks quite modern, whereas the velocipedes with iron-rimmed wheels bridging the penny-farthing era were dubbed bone-shakers ([an 1870s example](https://pin.it/1z3XNR9)) for being so uncomfortable
> 
> [BICYCLE FACE](https://books.google.co.nz/books?id=Eqk5AQAAMAAJ&pg=RA1-PA548#v=onepage&q&f=false): a “worn, weary and exhausted face” caused by bicycling. A concern chiefly directed at women, of course.
> 
> An ad for the Harrod’s Stores [cycling practice track](https://pin.it/4cd5CiX) which seems to be targeting ladies 🚲
> 
> _Veni, vidi, voravi_ – I came, I saw, I devoured.
> 
> [Kaydel judging Rey](https://pin.it/3dtZLZV) (Punch cartoon) for her cycling ensembles, probably. Maybe she’s afraid Rey will wear this [exceedingly loud example](https://pin.it/5m6m19D).
> 
> _Rational costume_ – women’s trousers, especially bloomers for sport.
> 
> Bonus: [‘Thrashed by a Lady Cyclist’](https://pin.it/274Xeyj) from an 1899 Illustrated Police News is *chef’s kiss*.


End file.
